SELECT 

MISCELLANEOUS PRODUCTIONS, 



OF 



M RS - ©AY, 




AND 




THOMAS BAY,- 


Esq. 


IN 




Umz anD Prose 


• 


ALSO, 




SOME DETACHED PIECES OF POETRY, 



THOMAS LOWNDES, Esq. 

Consisting of the first 52 Pages. 

" TRIA JUNCTA IN UNO." 

LONDON : 

PRINTED BY T. JONES, 24, W ARDOUR - STREET, 

SOHO. 



1UT 



Va3o Ah 




TO THE 



FAIR FEMALES OF THE BRITISH 
ISLES. 

LADIES, 

I HAVE taken the liberty of 
dedicating to you the following humble 
publication, by which it is intended to 
shew, there is not so great an inequality 
between the understandings of men and 
women, as some have imagined ; and that 
if the same pains were taken with girls 
as with boys, to instruct them in their 

mother 



Via DEDICATION. 



mother tongue, your style would perhaps 
be superior to our's. 

For, probably, owing to a quicker flow 
of animal spirits, you are naturally elo- 
quent, and writing is only expressing 
our thoughts with the pen. 

But as words are only the vehicles of 
ideas, mere volubility is of little use with- 
out knowledge, and knowledge is to be 
attained only by study, and observation. 

When such a habit is acquired too, 
in early life, it gives the mind a literary 
bias, which it never loses, and furnishes 
a solitary residence in the country, with 
resources inexhaustible. 

Botany, drawing, music, and the belles- 
lettres, with vour usual domestic amuse- 
ments, would then leave scarce a mo- 
ment 



DEDICATION. IX 



iiient unemployed, whilst ennui, and 
vapours, the common attendants of 
a vacant mind, would be expelled from 
those unfurnished fair mansions, they 
have so long tenanted. 



*t> 



I have the honor to be, with the most 
profound respect, 

LADIES, 

your very sincere friend, 

and admirer, 

THE EDITOR. 



PREFACE. 



PREFACE. 



JL HE subsequent Publication, which the 
Editor respectfully presents to his parti- 
cular Friends and Acquaintance, is not 
meant to transmit to posterity, the lite- 
rary talents of any of the Writers, even 
if the intrinsic merit of some of the 
Pieces in Prose or Verse could justly lay 
claim to future approbation ; but is in- 
tended to do that which a common hand 
writing, and the single merit of each 
Piece could not have done, to preserve 
some scattered miscellaneous produc- 
tions from oblivion, bv printing them 
all together. 

At 



XK PREFACE. 

At first the Editor meant only to col- 
lect an unfading wreath to encircle the 
sacred shrine of Friendship, and occasion- 
ally remind him of the many delight- 
ful months he had past in a social inter- 
course with two worthy literary friends ; 
but the earnest solicitations of all Mr. 
and Mrs. Day's acquaintance, who heard 
of the collection, at last induced him \o 
relinquish his original design, by printing 
off many more copies than he intended. 

If the Editor's frequent satyrical allu- 
sions to a savage Usurper, at this awful 
period, the terrible scourge of degraded 
Europe, should offend the refined sensi- 
bility of any of his hireling partizans,(for 
volunteer advocates he cannot have, un- 
less such as are besotted, or in their do- 
tage) to those respectable admirers and 
impartial judges of the Tyrant, if common 

sense 



PREFACE. XU1 

sense is not thrown away upon them, the 
Editor begs leave to observe, that in the 
same proportion as he feels the honest 
and natural impulse of love and reverence 
for characters uncommonly virtuous, like 
Mr. and Mrs. Day's, he must of course 
feel detestation and abhorrence for an 
hypocritical knave, as different from 
them, as the angel of light, from the 
angel of darkness. 

Yet such is still the infatuation of some 
few, that they may be said even now to 
idolize Bonaparte, totally forgetful of all 
those horrid acts of barbarity, that have 
long placed his virtues in competition with 
those of Nero or Caligula. Among these 
is a Toung Authoress, of considerable 
abilities, who has lately published a vo- 
lume of poems, and to whom the Editor 
addresses the following lines :— 



-XIV. PREFACE. 

WHENCE, fairest Lady, whence this fulsome praise 

Of Bonaparte, in the land of Beys ; 

Sure tyrant Love, with his envenom'd dart, 

Who reigns despotic o'er the female heart, 

Has pierc'd you through, usurp'dyour freeborn mind. 

And made you thus to all his vices blind. 

Now tho' Love tyrannize with pleasing sway, 

Making all hearts most willingly obey, 

And at his shrine a grateful homage pay ; 

Except the little God, mankind will own, 

They ne'er could brook a tyrant on a throne. 

From tyranny recoiling, till they feel 

A deadly hatred ev'ry sinew steel. 

As the scar'd trav'ler, who within a brake, 

Sees the expanded jaws of some huge rattle snake* 



} 



AN ACCOUNT OF MATLOCK BATH, 

IN DERBYSHIRE ; 

And the Picturesque Scenery of the Country 
around it* 

UH ! that my pencil could those charms pourtray, 
Which Matlock's variegated scenes display; 
Where gliding through her rich romantic vale, 
The Derwent circulates her healthful gale, 
Gently meanders by the rocks above, 
Bathing their feet in token of his love, 
Or, dashing rolls along his murky waves 
Through thick groves hanging from the rocks he laves 
Where hills, and vallies, woods, and plains appear 
In all those charms, which Nature's fav'rites wear ; 
The woodlands sloping, and the valiies green, 
Huge rocks, with here and there a tree between, 
Whose roots surprise the wond'ring stranger's e)e ? 
Shooting on spots where earth can scarcely lie. 

b When* 



(2) 

Where immense crags o'erhang the mountain's base^ 
That seem prepar'd to quit their destined place, 
Threatening to crush whole townships in their fall, 
And in one moment overwhelm them all- 
Yet where are seen to climb the rock's rough steep^ 
The shepherd's boy, and still more daring sheep, 
Browzing 'twixt fragments of mishapen rocks, 
A view so frightful, as the boldest shocks ; 
Whilst the hoarse raven, croaking from her nest," 
Wonders that these, should dare disturb her rest 
Where various cots adorn the mountain's side, 
Like those of Gades, Britain's glorious pride, 
With but one path the peasant's steps to guide ; 
This too, so narrow, zig-zag, steep, and rough, 
For one to walk, there's hardly space enough ; 
But should two meet, unaided by a wa!l, 
Without great care, the outermost will fall, 
And rolling down, some hundred feet of rock, 
Strike on the ground, with a tremendous shock ; 
Sad awful victim to that want of thought, 
^ Which Nature here, to most her sons has taught 
Hough in their speech, uncouth in their attire, 
Whose wishes seldom beyond this aspire, 



I 



To 



(3) 

lo live and die in honest Freedom's breast* 

That noblest boon, with which the peasant's blest. 

Nor think, O Matlock, I'll forget to praise 

Thy min'ral waters, in these humble lays ; 

That healing spring, which Heav'n has caus'd to flow, 

To ease the sad varieties of woe, 

To raise the drooping, and dejected maid, 

When fell Consumption, seem'd her lungs t' invade; 

And hov'ring o'er a dark untimely grave, 

No med'cine else, her precious life could save 5 

Restor'd to all the pleasing cares of life, 

The happy honors, of a virtuous wife; 

Kestor'd, her parents' latter years t* assuage, 

"And rock the cradle of reposing age ;" 

Restor'd, a mother's anxious joys to feel, 

And raise up children, to the Common Weal. 

What grateful tide the lover's bosom warms, 

When now he clasps his mistress in his arms ; 

What grateful tide the parent's heart o'erflows, 

When now his daughter's freed from sick bed woes, 

None but a parent or a lover knows. 

O bounteous heaven, whose goodness to mankind, 

In nought more plainly than in this we find, 

b 2 Diseases 



•} 



(4) 

Diseases few our tender frames molest, 

With which we are not with the remede blest* 

On Matlock's spring I'll one more praise bestow, 

Myself to it, my present spirits owe : 

But its great virtues now from few conceal'd, 

Will be in time to all the world reveal'd. 

Yet farther up thy sweet enchanting vale, 

As though some magic spell our eyes assail, 

There bursts upon them Cromford's stately mills 

Rising majestic, 'midst encircling hills. 

Here Nature kindly, o'er an Arkwright show'rs, 

To swell our Commerce, the mechanic pow'rs ; 

Whose wond'rous aid, to poor weak manual skilly 

With vast conceptions, our ideas fill, 

With mute submission, teaching us still more 

The Great Mechanic of this World t' adore* 



LINE*- 



(5) 



LINES WRITTEN AS AN EPITAPH, 

On the premature Death, of my ever to he lamented 
Friend, and Relation, 

Mr. DAY, 

AUTHOU OF SANDFORD AlfD MERTON, &C. &C. 

JYlOURN, mortals, mourn, here tomb'd untimely lies 

God's noblest work, the virtuous, and the wise. 

One, whose great mind, with gen'rous passions fraught, 

Ne'er meanly acted, or e'er meanly thought. 

His honor nice, his sense and judgment clear, 

Sound in his morals, yet to none severe, 

Equal his temper, eloquent his tongue, 

His manners lively, and his talents strong, 

Bold as the lion, gentle as the dove, 

His bosom warm, but delicate his love ; 

His kindness fost'ring, as Apollo's heat, 

Ilium' d the child of sorrow's dark retreat, 

Dispeird the gloom, that round the negro rose, 

JLaos'd his strong chains, and eas'd his heavy woes ; 

b 3 Compassion 



(6) 

Compassion too, not partially inclin'd, 

Boundless his zeal ; it shone o ? er all mankind; 

Eeast, bird, fish, insect did its fervor share, 

Whose lives he cherish'd with parental care ; 

By forms not sway'd, though these the world revere, 

He stemm'd luxurious fashion's proud career, 

Repell'd the influence of her baneful pow'r, 

And youth forewarn'd, to shun the fatal hour 

When their soft minds, depriv'd of Reason's light, 

A thousand pleasures play before the sight, 

And life's gay scenes, enervating their souls, 

Vice o'er their hearts, with latent force coutrouls. 

The Patriot stedfast, in his Country's cause, 

Revering much, the majesty of laws, 

When these to strengthen seem'd, and not t'invade 

Those Rights of Man, for which all laws were made ; 

To curb the factious, property secure, 

Punish the bad, the good rewards ensure 

And man to patient industry allure ; 

From hence he deem'd, true Government to spring, 

The compact this, of Subject and of King, 

Such was Day's life, whose merits crown'd aLove, 

Reap their just tribute, his Creator's love, " 

AN 



} 



(7) 



AN APOLOGY 



TO A LADY. 



HlAD I but known, by Aikin's tender tale, 

I touch'd the String, on which thy Sorrows hung ; 

Believe me, gentle nymph of Scarsdale's vale, 
I'd left his lyre, I'd left my own unstrung. 

In this world's chequer'd scene, where thorns of woe 

Amid the flow'rs of joy, in ambush lie ; 
Curs'd be that verse, how smooth soe'er it flow, 

Which gives one virtuous girl, a hapless sigh. 

Though the bright tears, that to thy eyelids stole, 
Hanging like dew drops, orfthe glist'ning rose ; 

Display'd a warm, a sympathetic soul, 
A genial soil ; where ev'ry virtue grows. 

3 4 * Full 



(3) 

t€ Full man}'' a gem of purest ray serene, 
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear \ y 

But gems of Sympathy, how seldom seen, 

Though none with these, in value can compare 

The precious pearl of sympathetic woe, 
Which deck'd the lustre, of thy steady eye, 

Made my tears too, in silent sorrow flow, 
And waft to thee the tribute of a sigh. 



Forgive him, then, in pity to thy fate, 

Who touch'd the String, on which thy Sorrows hung; 
Since from that hour, his sorrows he may date, 

Who is, like thee, by Cupid's poison stung. 



EXTEMPORE 



(9) 



EXTEMPORE VERSES, 

UPON A LADY, 

Who repulsed me, as I was going to salute her t and 
put on a grave angry look. 

X HOUGH Flies may rifle Delia's charms, 

Her heav'nly nectar sip ; 
Yet nobler J, am barr'd the pow'r, 
To touch sweet Delia's lip, 

Then why should man behold with scorn ! 

The happier insect race ? 
When even flies may dare to do, 

What human forms disgrace. 

Oh that 1 could but change my shape, 

And be an insect too, 
That I might lovely Delia kiss, 

And all her beauties view. 



But 



( io) 

But ah ! alas ! I cannot hope 

To change this human mien ; 
For that same God, who formed my clay, 

Has their Creator been. 

But I can quit these once lov'd scenes, 

Since winter's frosts appear ; 
And hasten to some warmer clime,, 

Where cold nor storm I fear. 

For now my charming Delia frowns* 
The East wind chills my breast, 

Which, till she smiles, no more will feel 
The zephyrs of the West. 



LINES 



( 11 ) 



VERSES 

Written upon the aforesaid Lady's saying, a Gentleman 
fell asleep in a Coach, in which she was, 

vV HEN East was sitting in a coach, 

Fair Delia by his side, 
He felt intrusive sleep approach, 
As he her beauties ey'd. 

O happy youth, hadst thou not let 

Sweet slumber thus surprise, 
Thy death wound, thou hadst surely met> 

From Delia's brilliant eyes. 

Then bless thy near escape, O East* 

And in thy closet pray, 
Yearly too keep a sacred feast, 

Jn honor of that day. 



Far 



( 12 > 

Far diffrent was Solander's fate, 

Asleep by coldness laid, 
Although he saw stern Death await. 

Should sleep his limbs invade. 

Till wak'd by Banks, he scap'd that doom* 

Which all must sometime bear; 
While East, by sleep, escaped his tomb, 
The same could kill or spare. 



TO 



(13 > 



A POETICAL PORTRAIT OF A 
MARRIED LADY, 

If possible, more graceful than the Graces, a Diamond 
of the first brilliancy. 

V/APRICE, thou idol of the female breast, 
At whose sad shrine, my mystic vows I pay ; 

On thee I call to give me ease and rest> 

And free my mind from Laura's fickle sway. 

Long have I felt love's slow consuming flame, 
With thrilling transports vibrate in my heart; 

Long have I felt at sound of Laura's name, 
My bosom struck with Cupid's poison'd dart. 

But when I ask, to case my tortur'd mind, 
A portrait of sweet Laura's angel face, 

She answers, No! how cruel, how unkind, 
Thou fairest, ficklest, of the female race, • 



Thus 



( 14 5 

Thus to refuse one copy of thy form, 
To him, who loves thee with so pure a fire; 

Thy fair orig'nal, animate and warm, 

Has ne'er possessed him, with unchaste desire. 

Still to C****s. lawful arms confine thy bust. 
Made in luxuriant Nature's sweetest mould; 

But e're that form's consigned again to dust, 
And> like the marble, polished, yet cold, 

Let art's enchanting pencil snatch a grace, 

A Guido's touch preserve each matchless charm, 

That time may transmit to the future race, 
What e'en on canvas, will the bosom warm* 

How Nature once, in sportive frolic hour, 
The Graces call'd around her magic seat, 

And these besought, to deck with fairest flow'r, 
And perfume with the most luxuriant sweet, 

One matchless child, whose elegance, and taste, 
The happiest efforts, of her genius shew'd, 

Nature's chef d'ceuvrc each fair Goddess grac'd, 
And to them all, Laura her beauty ow'd. 



The 



( 13 ) 

The Graces gave her dignity of air, 

A face that sure would make a saint run mad j 

Venus pronounc'd her, fairest of the fair, 

Who many a blithsome heart should render sad* 

Minerva lightning to her eyes convey'd, 
A melting softness mingled with their fire ; 

Nature with witching smiles, her face array'd t 
And made her voice harmonious as the lyre. 

Momus gave quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles, 
Such fascinating pow'r to please the soul, 

That all, who caught the focus of her smjles, 
Confess* d the magic of her soft controul. 

Unable to repress the falling tear, 

Each felt her beauty, did his heart ensnare ; 

Like the poor bird, whom fascinating fear. 

Throws in the serpent's mouth* when soaring in the 
air. 



Off 



( 16 > 



STANZAS, TO MORPHEUS, 



THE GOD OF SLEEP. 



WITH kind complacence,, hear a suppliant's prayV, 
And spread, O Sleep, thy pinions o'er his breast ; 

Him some rich drops from heav'nly Lethe spare, 
And hush him slumb'ring to the shades of rest. 

Whose soul no evil conscience keeps awake f 
That like a death watch, ticking in the ear, 

With weak low sound, makes ev'ry nerve to shake, 
Midst horrid pauses of convulsive fear. 

Conscience which, whispering, more the soul appals 
Than ^Etna's sudden bursts of rocky fire ; 

The dreadful roar when some proud city falls, 
Or that loud crash when elements conspire. 

O gentle 



( 17 ) 

O gentle Sleep, who seal'st the ship hoy's eyes, 
When the white billows with tremendous roar, 

Curling their monstrous tops like mountains rise, 
And roll impetuous 'gainst the foaming shore. 

When perch'd aloft upon the main topmast, 
(His torpid body numb'd by thy Fwcet charm,) 

Wearied he sleeps midst ev'ry shiv'ring blast, 
Senseless of fears, the watchful breast aiartn. 

Why o'er a boy thus cradled in the shroud, 

Thy magic influence so kindly shed, 
And not o'er those of high distinction proud, 

Who on a downy pillow lay their head ? 

If to the rich thy slumbers thou refuse, 

And poverty alone thy blessings taste, 
Then grant, kind Heav'n, this rich but temperate muse, 

To some poor cottage may his footsteps haste. 

There blest with poverty t if blest with sleep, 
On prtfcow'd straw repose the throbbing head, 

Whilst sweet oblivion o'er his eyelids creep, 

As death's dark mantle on the tombstone spreads 

c Willi 



( 18 ) 

With coarsest cloathing, water from the springs 
Alternate labour, but alternate rest; 

Far happier then, this wearied muse would sing> 
Than if in all the pomp of splendor drest. 



THB 



( 19) 



THE FOLLOWING ADDRESS 

Was intended to hate been spoken at a PIay> which Lord 

jB***j/*** had once the idea of giving at his 

Theatre the day he came of age, to some 

Friends, and to his Creditors^ 

vJYER, Oyer, Oyer, our most noble lord 
Bids you ail welcome to his festive board; 
And me has sent to greet his honor'd friends* 
To whom respectful compliments he sends. 
But first ye Belles, whose charms I fondly view, 
Tho' Cupid's arrows pierce me through and through 
And all the throbbing pains of love renew. 
Belles such as Britain only can produce, 
Whose rich productions, for theirshew or use, 
Exceed in beauty those of other states, 
Whence Europe envies what my heart elates. 
My Lord to-night perforins a noble part, 
And what all noblemen should learn by heart : 

c 2 True 



} 



( 2o ) 

True real honor he displays to view, 
Pays his old debts, and then begins anew. 
The paying debts he knows is not the passion* 
But hopes to-night to set this comely fashion. 
Raised by a title, which in former times 
The peer ne'er us'd to varnish o'er his crimes ; 
A noble mind he'll shew, as well as birth, 
(Unlike some new made lords, just sprung from earth,) 
And try his founder's virtues to inherit, 
Who got his peerage by superior merit. 
To ease his friends, my Lord's enlarg'd this place, 
That none may shew a discontented face; 
But all of you enjoy sea-room enough, 
E'en the broad crest of honest Captain Bluff. 
li To see a Play, I've paid most woundy dear, 
Old Square Toes said, going from hence last year, 
So squeez'd and pressed, was never man before, 
YnurW**g***e plays shall never see me more : 
The Col'nel too, forsooth, must pinch my corns, 
Perhaps create a harder substance, horns !" 
" Alas, what's that, replies his loving wife, 
My dear was hurt, my soul, my chick, my life/'' 
Miss Dumpling next complain'd the House was small, 
That some rude bear had push'd her 'gainst the wall ; 

Besides, 



} 



( 21 ) 

i{ Besides* papa, a vulgar ill-bred man, 
Dar'd to stoop down, and pick me up my fan ; 
Presumptuous wretch ! who ventured thus to touch, 
The fan presented me by Count Nonsuch. 
Would my Lord B***y**re enlarge his place, 
And let us quality have a separate space, 
I might perhaps once more adorn his plays, 
Make the men's hearts with admiration blaze, 
Whilst all transported at my person gaze ; 
And women e'en, though envious of my charms, 
Extol the beauty of my face and arms. 
Who's that ? cries one, Miss Dumpling says another, 
And none their praises of my shape can smother ; 
Earls, Dukes, and Princes swell my conquest roll, 
And I, like Venus, o'er their hearts coutroul. 
As it now is, some monster I should dread 
Might by o'er kindness indispose my head; 
.For sure the greatest of life's various ills, 
What most the heart with spleen and rancour fills, 
Is to be pester'd by yourawkwaid clowos, 
Whose gauche politeness, I return by frowns. 
^Better kick'd, curs'd, or famish'd by a Lord, 
IThan by an upstart commoner ador'd." 

Ihesi 



( -22 ) 

Lest some tho' elsewhere should still sit on thorns. 

While cuckolds here have room to spread their horns; 

By me his Lordship hon'rably declares, 

He'll pay his tradesmen their respective shares, 

If these will send in honest, clear accounts, 

.And fairly state to what each bill amounts. 

Thus B***** # re performs a noble part, 

And what some here I hope will learn by heart; 

A character displays on W**g**e stage, 

But seldom seen in this degen'rate age. 



A FAREWELL 



(23 ) 



A FAREWELL ADDRESS 

To the Company at Han owgate in the Summer, 180L* 

upon closing the Theatre therefor the Season, and 

written for Miss De C.'s Benefit. 

A O-night, our season ended, give me leave 
T express those thanks with which our bosoms heave : 
But chiefly mine, who feel to-night that glow, 
Which from a grateful mind can only flow* 
That debt of Gratitude now fills my heart. 
And tho* the whole I cannot, Til pay part. 
Supposing then each here, like me, a Play'r, 
For you I offer up this fervent pray'r ; 
May all you, acting on the stage of life, 
As brother, husband, mother, daughter, wife 
So well perform, that at death's awful hour 
No poignant sorrow may life's chalice sour; 
May you, ye Belles, who Harrowgate adorn, 
CJalher the flow'r of joy without the thorn ; 

c4? Nor 



jet your aim, "J 

id, to get a name, > 

e's sacred flame. J 



( 24 ) 

Nor hasty pluck a flow'r, where'er it grows, 

For fear you get the nettle, not the rose. 

If then your minds on marriage are intent, 

Remember well this word, 'repent, repent.' 

To you, mamas, I give this short advice, 

For I have known mamas by much too nice ; 

tet not ambitious views direct your aim, 

And make your daughter wed, 

Whether she feel or not love': 

Let wealth nor title be your only guide, 

These of themselves can't make the happy bride ; 

But hark ! some mother says, whence all this knowledge. 

Sure that pert Miss was brought up at a College, 

A girl so wise she surely ne'er could be^ 

Unless she added to her name B. D. 

You quiz me, madam, but I'll quiz again, 

Tis a fair shot to try to hit the men, 

Those lordly men, who thinking us fair game, 

Shoot at the women's hearts with love's unerring aim. 

'Tis now the season too, September time, 

Would birds were shot at only in my rhyme. 

B. D. implies in that great College, whence 

I had my knowledge, a great want of sense. 

If 



( 23 ) 

It means not learning, but a want of that, 

A head that's only fit to wear a hat. 

B,D. Dunce Bachelor, the fiist degree, 

Next L. L. D. a greater Dunce than he ; 

Last D. D. Doctor Dunce, with wig and cane, 

Of these, and D. D. not a little vain* 

Joking apart, should any swell with bile 

At the bold freedom of my muse's style, 

To them I now, as M, D. give advice, 

Probatum est, and cures them in a trice. 

Of thisfamM spring three glasses take, but stop, 

M. D. must not forget the bolus shop. 

Yet ah ! from those wry faces which I see, 

Methinks I've dos'd you well without a fee ; 

Your vessels plethorick, your stomachs full, 

With verses rough, satyrical and dull, 

You seem to say, good Doctor do pray cease, 

And give your tir'd out muse a little peace j 

A hint's enough, so now I'll bid adieu 

To mamas, misses, and kind men to you ; 

Yet to all thankful, when this house I see, 

The Doctor must confess, he has his fee. 



THE 



( 26) 



AD LILLYSTONEM, 

DULCE KIDEXTEM. 

The following Stanzas were written on being favored with 

a sight of that Lady s uncommonly elegant 

Drawings. 

VV HEN gentle Lillystone, with matchless skill, 
On her chaste canvass some fair form pourtrays, 

What secret transports in the bosom thrill, 
How lost in wonder we admiring gaze. 

So finely animate her pencil'd bust, 

We, starting, think the canvass teems with life, 

In rapt'rous bliss delusive senses trust, 
And claim the lovely image for a wife. 

With stretch'd out arms arrest the peerless fair, 
To shew our fondness by a close embrace ; 

When ah ! the form untangible as air, 

Our grasp eludes, and keeps its destin'd place. 



(27 ) 

The hapless youth in an enchanting dream, 
Thus views with extacy his fair one's charms ; 

And whilst the playful tints of fancy beam, 
Believes he clasps his mistress in his arms* 

Till sadly waking, with tumultuous joy, 

He finds the object of his ardor fled, 
Again for lost Eliza heaves a sigh, 

And bends with sorrow o'er the silent dead. 

Like Lillystone did great Apelles draw, 

When he so graceful shap'd the queen of love ; 

Man strangely felt, in spite of Nature's law, 
The lifeless canvass could his passions move, 

Titian's soft colouring, Guido's graceful air, 

Proclaim an artist of superior kind ; 
Yet who, that sees her portraits, won't declare, 
In them the image of herself we find. 

Such soft emotions in her bosom reign, 

Such grace and dignity her mind adorn, 
As prove that Lillystone, howe'er she feign, 

Js not a mortal, but an angel born. 

A PROLOGUE 



( £8 ) 



A PROLOGUE of mine to JANE SHORE, 

Spoken hj me at the Theatre in Soutlmid the Mgkt of 
Miss Brookes's Benefit. 

IN that just mirror of the human mind, 

Shakespeare's immortal page, this truth we find ; 

The world's a stage, all men and women play'rs, 

Where each variety of acting shares. 

And Shakespeare's judgment who'll presume to doubt. 

Will any in this house or any out ? 

If any here should dare our bard t' asperse, 

And think that he, like minor sons of verse, 

Took not from life those characters he drew, 

All how unlike each other, all how true ; 

With modern novels Shakespeare's plays compare, 

Tho' here we see all truth, all fiction there ; 

Such sceptic minds no pow'r on earth could move, 

Kot the fine arguments of England's Jove ; 

Him 



( 29 ) 

Him from whose lips the gentle accents flow^ 

Soft as the fleeces of descending- snow ; 

Whose arm omnipotent can spread alarms, 

Whose gentle voice can rouse the world to arms ; 

Pitt, the great statesman, whose persuasive voice 

Could make a nation in its ills rejoice ; 

Could make John Bull with taxes blest, a store, 

Cry out in extacy, encore, encore ; 

Could make the budget, (that Pandora's Box, 

Once but a Calf, now grown into an Ox,) 

So light appear, John Bull was wont to say 

He felt no pressifre, it so lightly lay ; 

So small in stature seem, tho' grown so big, 

He call'd the budget, Billy's sucking pig. 

Yet some then thought, in spite of John's wise head, 

Pitt's pig so heavy, 'twas a pig of lead. 

Sure beast so strange was never seen before, 

The more it suck'd, it grunting squeak'd for more ; 

Yet stranger too, tho' that may seem a jest, 

Its mother strengthen'd, when it drain'd her breast? 

This Pitt affirm'd, and he a Heav'n born man, 

Knows more for certain than poor mortals can ; 

Then thus he prov'd it ; Britain, when at war, 

Fresh strength acquires from ev'ry wound and scar ; 



To 



( 30 ) 

To it cloth Heav'n such wond'rous vigour send, 
The more it spends, the more it still can spend. 

But hence these jokes on patriot god-like Pitt, 
. Jokes only meant to shew your poet's wit ; 
AVho like some fishermen, his wit once set, 
Takes all for fishj that come into his net. 
Trust me who thinks not Pitt all good and vvise^ 
Knows not where virtue, where true honor lies ; 
Or did not bigot hate and party zeal 
Lock up his soul in adamantine steel, 
Candid he'd own, Pitt's rich capacious mind 
Proves him a Premier born, to save mankind : 
Whilst Bonaparte, whom the devil take, 
SheAS that he's born for whom, his own dear sake ; 
Old Nicies sweet habe, to whom some witch gave suck, 
And for his fortune ga\e, the devil's luck. 

Gentle Jane Shore to night with meagre looks, 
(Her face not much unlike the phiz of Brookes,) 
Implores your patronage, yet lankcr still, 
Will be Brooke's visage, if her house don't fill. 
No cheeks more smooth than hers, nor any plumper, 
Should she behold this house to -night a bumper; 

Should 



( 31 ) 

Should she behold, like Lady Faddle's rout, 

Her friends unable to get in or out ; 

Pinion'd^and squeez'd like fowls upon a spit, 

All parts choak'd up, box, gallery, and pitt, 

Six inches square to stand on, six to sit ; 

Then would your Brookes with gratitude run o'er, 

As when the rains in sudden torrents pour, 

And in a flood of joy raise up her head, 

Dripping like Neptune's on his oozy bed. 

Whilst rich Old Thames, who owes so much to Brooks, 

Would thank you with his best, his gentlest looks, 

Smooth his rough waves, and swelling high his tide, 

Enable frigates at Southend to rideV 

And Thames with Neptune in close friendship joined, 

A fig for all the Powers on earth combined. 

At all events to Brookes this praise is due, 

To please her friends has been her only view ; 

Her bill of fare perchance, a little odd, 

For which don't lash her with the critic's rod. 

Did you not think me now a horrid bore, 
I'd crave your interest for your native Shore > 
And trespass on your time one moment more. 
Close to the sea too shall I plead in vain, 
When Southend shore to you is no small gain; 

And 



( n ) 

And who so likely to support with spirit 
Our native Shore, as those who feel its merit* 
With Miss Brookes thanks to jou, who kindly sit 
To see her ben'fit and to hear my wit ; 
I'll take my leave, and like her thank you too, 
Yes, thank sincerely you / and you, and you ;* 
Trusting that when my motive's understood, 
You'll say, he acts not ill, whose cause is good. 



* Box, Pitt, and Gallery. 



AN 



( 33 ) 

A MILITARY 

ADDRESS OF MINE, 

Spoken at the dosing of the Theatre at Southend, 

in Essex, the Play having been chosen hy 

some of the Essex Volunteers. 

O FERTILE isle, for wealth and beauty fam'd, 
A second Paradise, or Eden nam'd, 
Thou fairest spot of our terrestr'al sphere, 
Let only happiness inhabit here. 
So said great Jove, when, plunging in the waves, 
lie rais'd this isle, whose sides old Ocean laves ; 
And smiling on the earth, displayed to sight, 
Well pleas'd surveyed the pearl he'd brought to light. 
No wonder then, New France has spread alarms, 
And try'd to rouse the. Continent to arms. 
Envious of England's opulence and pow'r, 
Her tyrant trembles for th' approaching hour, 
When Britain's conquests, spread from shore to shore, 
True Freedom shall extend, and tyrants breathe no more: 

d How 



( m > 

How foolish this, t' avert domestic jar, 
By madly braving England's youth to war. 
Revenge, revenge, the sons of Albion cry, 
And all to arms, in gath'ring tumults fly; 
Each ardent singly to decide the cause* 
And shew the justice of his country's laws ; 
Whilst Bonaparte, frighten'd at the sight 
Of British valour, shuns th' unequal fight, 
Wisely inclines his bullying wrath t'assuage ? 
And leave invasion for some future age. 
How wise, vain Gauls, for, (driv'n from Africk's shore 
By those brave heroes, Hutchinson, and Moore, 
Led by Sir Ralph, \vho f for his country's good, 
Seal'd Egypt's glorious viet'ry with his blood,) 
Ye, madly boasting to subdue the world, 
Saw your proud standard for Britannia furl'd* 
Heard gallant Sydney thundering from afar^. 
Sydney the fav'rite of the God of War j 
Sydney a name to ev'ry Briton dear, 
And sweetly sounding in Britannia's ear ; 
But to a Frenchman's, and- faith no wonder, 
Sounding terrific, like the awful thunder ; 
His name tremendous as the God of Battles, 
That 'midst bombs, grape shot, shells,and mortars rattles. 

Yes>- 



{35) 

Yes, brave Sir Sidney, thy chivalrick fame, 

Great and illustrious as thy noble name, 

Shall live immortal in th' historic page, 

And brighter glow to each succeeding age 5 

Like a fine Claude, as age to age succeeds, 

So bright shall seem thy high heroic deeds, 

Fame's corrin'g mellow'd down by Truth's bright ray. 

Shall shine effulgent as the sourca of day. 

If this bright fame for but one Acre too, 

Ye Gods, for millions, what won't Sydney do. 

lie skili'd like brave Nelson, Hawke, Rodney, Howe, 

To make proud Gallia's flag to England's bow ; 

Not French themselves, more pliant in the back. 

They and their flags a sort of supplejack ; 

Unlike our Jacks, who stiff as British oak, 

Disdain to bend to any foreign yoke. 

Which made Liuoi&'s squadron so enhance 

The unknown merits of our country Dance, 

That when our tars began their balls to play, 

So ill they lik'd the Dance, they ran away ; 

Tho' had it been a French cotillion set, 

That on the China seas Linois met, 

Active as monkies they'd have join'd the Dance, 

Cotillion steps the fav'rite ones in France, 

d 2 Yes, 



(36). 

Yes, long has proud Gaul felt with galling pain, 
Britannia rules the land, Britannia rules the main. 
Far diffrent now from that ill omen'd day, 
When England sent her martial sans away, 
The sword to tarnish in a brother's bloody 
And kinsmen slaughter for the public good s 
To quell rebellion 'gainst oppressive acts, 
Enforce those laws a British House enacts; 
To urge a right which none on earth can claim, 
A right l' oppress, if mask'd by friendship's name. 
When stem-ey'd justice arms our valiant bands, 
Each foe falls prostrate by their conq'ring hands; 
With wreaths of laurel ev'ry project's crown'd, 
And heaps on heaps lie bleeding on the ground* 
Not so when dire oppression guides their breast, 
Then vain their prowess by divine behest ; 
ImpartialJove ambitious schemes abhors, 
And makes abortive all tyrannic wars. 



STATCAS" 



t 57 ) 



STANZAS, 

Written on the Centinary Commemoration throughout 

Great Britain, of the glorious Revolution^ but par •• 

ticularly alluding to a magnificent Celebration 

of that Event at Chesterfield, in 

Derbyshire,, 

vVhEN Freedom's cause the British breast expands, 

And makes it glow with ardor scarce its own, 
Let not the rapt'rous flame forsake those bands, 

Which grac'd the triumph of great Nassau's throne; 

What tho' the clarion's sound no longer's heard, 

Or loud huzzas re-echo thro' the air, 
No flags are seen, or Orange zone begird i 

The tap'ring waist of Britain's peerless fair ! 

Yet shall Imagination paint the day, 

In brightest colors that her pow'rs can give; 

And ev'ry Briton sincere homage pay, 

To the mild Monarch under whom we live, 

d 3 To 



( 38 ) 

To George the Third, our virtuous, patriot King ! 
Who loves to see bis people happy, free ; 
For which each grateful muse with truth shall sing, 

For ever may good George,Great Britain's Sovereign be 

When vain parade, and revelling are o'er, ; 

Shall ye forget the cause from whence they flow ? 
Consid'ring that gay festive scene no more, 

Than the mock image of a Lord May Ys show. 

If such your Gallic joy, your French-like taste* 
Pleas'd only with the pageantry of dress; 

With Gauls admire th* Imperial crown of paste, 
The mantle, sceptre, royal apkhness. 

But moral, precepts which the play conveys*, 
T' assist weak : minds the snares of vice to shun; 

Think these like them, too trivial for your praise* 
Nor let your minds by ought but pomp be won# 



the 



( 39) 
THE PROPHECY, 

OR, 

BONAPARTE KILLED AT LAST 
By his own 1 roups. 

IE Britons, to your Country true, 
In her just cause so hearty, 
Shall make the French Invasion rue^ 
And give proud Bonaparte 
Such proofs of Britons' glorious zeal, 
When by French slaves invaded, 
As soon shall make that Tyrant feel, 
His laurels are all faded. 

Blasted, like his brilliant fame, 

Which once shone with such lustre, 

Patriots almost ador'd his name, 

Who now against him muster. 

Whose hearts since Bonaparte's changed, 

With such resentment glow ; 

They in the foremost ranks are rang'd, 

To give to him his death-blow, 

d 4 Shall 



(40) 

Shall Britons court a Tyrant's smiles ? 

Shall Britons, chang'd 10 Slaves ! 

Be gull'd by the Usurper's wiles, 

And hypocritick knaves ? 

Who slily say, " we only mean, 

A hundred rich to kill, 

Frenchmen from long experience seen, 

Too mild, much blood to spill! 

€i So meek, so gentle, they ne'wr could, 
Like the base English nation, 
Embrue their hands in guiltless blood ; 
Britons in ev'ry station, 
Characterise as loving pain, 
For savage, treacherous acts ; 
Whence they reject with fell disdain, 
Those mild laws New France enacts." 

Freedom sure reigns in FRANCE ALONE, 
For only the Consul's free ; 
But maik that tyrant on his throne, 
j\nd him on his pillow see, 



Where 



< 41 ) 

Where rack'd with agonizing thought, 
At which his blood runs chill, 
Murders he plots, who sleep has sought 
In vain the night to kill. 

His death see widows, orphans pray, 

Bearing a poison'd bowl, 

Whilst this, which some in whispers say, 

Seems thunder to his soul : 

" Thou traitor to thy soldiers, speak, 

Nor feel refreshing sleep, 

Lo ! we our husbands, fathers seek, 

Thus doom'd by thee to weep. 

" Where are thy fellow soldiers, say ! 

Whom thy base treach'ry slew ? 

Thou know'st at Jaffa long they lay 

Expos'd to public view ; 

Till Britons, to their foes humane, 

Gave them sepulchral rite ; 

For they with sorrow, heartfelt pain, 

Beheld that horrid si<>ht% 



Now, 



( 4£ ) 

^ Now, Monster, hear, 'tis doom'd by fate, 

Much longer thou sha'nt live, 

From thy own troops just death await, 

They shall thy death blow give : 

Nor will those guards who round thy thr ore, 

Have screen'd thee long from death, 

Their Consul's too just fate bemoan ? 

Or weep his parting breath. 

" But terror fled, shew vast surprize 

Thou monster liv'd'st so long; 

That France did not against thee rise 

In one promiscuous throng ; 

Thy staunch Mamelukes shall cry out, 

Thank God, the Tyrant's dead !!! 

For no more Consuls Frenchmen shout, 

But King Louis make your head. 

" With Moreau, Minister of State, 
Not mad Ambition's fool, 
And choosing a much safer fate, 
Than over France to rule ; 



Frenchmen 



(43) 

Frenchmen shall then this blessing see, 
They've not for twelve years past, 
Equality does best agree 
With Governments which last." 

€i For though Republics, at first sight, 
Delusive Fancy please, 
They, closer seen, mankind affright, 
And with such friction tease, 
Faction against Faction struggling, 
Causing such constant ferment, 
With their arts of patriot-juggling, 
A state's vital strength is spent." 

We Britons now, to our good King 

Will grateful homage pay ; 

Nor murmur, tho* the war should bring 

Fresh taxes ev'ry day ! 

Because they're rais'd but for the war, 

When that's brought to an end, 

Those taxes cease we most abhor, 

And our bad times will mend. 



Where 



( 44 ) 

Where we're tax'd too, true Freedom reigns, 
And such just laws are found ; 
They can defy Old or Young PAINES, 
And light them on their own ground. 
Their Reason would before our laws, 
(Afraid with Truth to fight,) 
Vanish in smoke, as the sun draws 
The vapours of the night. 



Tie above written 
in 1803, 



ON 



( 45 ) 



ON THE RESTORATION OF THE 

BOURBON FAMILY 

To the Throne of France ; an event which I hope, by the 
interposition of Divine Providence r will 
e're long takeplacd. 

VYHEN Vice prevails, and impious men bear sway, 
The strongest nation falls an easy prey 
To Discord, Rapine, and a stream of ills, 
Which flows impetuous from ten thousand rills: 
Till Virtue, like the fiery orb of day, 
When clouds have veil'd from sight his chearing ray. 
When black'ning tempests have o'erhung the land, 
And angry Jove has shook his thund'ring hand, 
Bursts into view, and with a light serene 
Dispels the horrors of the dreary scene; 
Dispensing joy and peace to all around 
Herself wk-h universal praises crown'd* 



VERSEfr 



( 48 ) 



VERSES to Mrs. T***T, 

Nearly allied to Venus, from her love-sick Relation Cnpid. 

I HE winged messenger of love,- 
Followed by his billing dove, 
This note has penn'd for one fair Dame, 
Skill'd to raise or put out a flame. 

From my enchanting Bower in the Wilderness al 
S******d, my Heart overflowing with. Love, like the* 
Sea at a Spring Tide. 

Kind Guardian Angels hover o'er her head, 
Whilst gently si urn bring on her downy bed. 

The God of Love writes in haste, as he has some 
millions of visits to pay before morning : 

For as soon as dawns forth the break of day, 
All Spirits like himself must flit away. 

AS 



} 



( 47 ) 

AS your dear little Cupid with rapt'rous delight, 
Is now winging his course on an amorous flight, 
He has stopM at a place call'd by him sweet S******d,- 
And these lines to his fav'rite has gallantly penn'd ; 
To my Widow of thirty, of a hundred I mean, 
For where's one in a hundred like her to be seen ? 
What widow in Britain with T***t can compare ? 
And most women there are deem'd lovely and fair. 
Whence some have imagin'd they plainly can see, 
Old England the isle of Calypso must be, 
As all our historians on this point agree ; 
That he who's in love, must be tied down as fast 
As Ulysses so fam'd, when tied to a mast, 
If from Britain's fair nymphs he wants to set sail, 
Else beauty and love o'er his heart will prevail. 
To describe my dear T # **t surpasses all powr, 
No, I've hit off her charms, she's a beautiful flow'r, 
Where balm, laylock,and lilly their fragrance combine 
With pink, jassamine, rose, and the sweet 
Whence all who behold her declare her di 
Now tell me what Belle for a moment will dare, 
With this sweetest of flow'rs herself to compare. 
Openhearted and gay, yet free from all vice, 
Tho' some think my Widow by no means too nice, 

I'll 



ranee combine,"! 
t eglantine, > 
livine. J 



( 4S ) 

FIl match Tier in conduct with any starch dame, 
Who thoughtlessly ventures her worth to defame. 
For in beauty's fair steps oft stalks like a ghost, 
Pale envy and scandal their virtues to boast ; 
To darken that path spotless beauty has trod, 
And raise themselves up, as a species of God ; 
Who crabbed and ugly, like most evil spirits, 
Delight to substract from beauty's just merits. 
But Wisdom clear-sighted soon finds out the fraud, 
And quickly by her such old cats are outlaw 'd ; 
Doom'd to pass all their lives in obscurity's shade, 
O dire curse ! each doom'd too, to die an old maid ! 
So cheer up sweet T***t, for when old maiden weed 
Like nettles or thistles shall run up to seed, 
Thy beauty shall seem as a rich swelling vine, 
Whilst round thee in clusters thy fine babes entwine. 
Then love, honor, esteem, with affection's fair train 
Shall shew thou, like old maids, art not made in vain; 
Shall strew thy life's path with each sweet smelling ftowV, 
And prove thee protected by Love's magic pow'r. 

CUPID. 

The Wilderness, one o'clock in- the morning, Sep. 24, 
1804, to mortal reckoning ; but no point of time 
to Spirits like myself, who live for ever. As eter- 
nity has no end, time can have no division* 



(49) 



Mr. LOWNDES being at a Rout, where 
a Widow was pointed out to hi???, apparently sn young, 
she might have been taken for a girl of fifteen, wrote the 
following extempore Verses, in consequence of a Lady's 
expressing great surprise at Mrs. Wood, the na?ne of the 
young Widow, looking so like a girl. It so happened 
that a Mr. Ash was standing near the Lady who ex- 
pressed such great surprise, therefore Mr. L was tempted 
to pun upon the young Widow's name s particularly as he 
had an opportunity of making a jeu de 7nols, by the 
introduction of Mr. Aslu 

Mr. L» — YOU shew surprise, so did I too, 

At that young Widow, now in view ; 

But mine has ceas'd, and so your'^ should, 

For you must know, that Widow's. JVood. 

'Mrs. H.— That W T idow 5 Wood, it cannot be, 
For I have seen her sipping tea, 
Have heard her speak, am told ^he's wit!}-, 
And you may see she's very pretty. 
How then can such a girl be Wood ? 
Jn t Oj this I'll) sure, she's nVh and blood. 

e Mr. A. 



( 50 ) 

Mr. A.— Madam, to shew that Wood call speak, 
I English talk, nay sometimes Greek, 
Yet I am Ash, and Ash is Wood, 
And you'd soon find I'm flesh and blood. 



The following EPIGRAMS were written extempore? 
on its being reported Lord Wkitworth had left Paris, but 
the French had detained his Plate. The Epigrams are 
puns upon the word Plate ; likening Ms Lordship's Plate 
to that which Race Horses run for. 



EPIGRAM I. 

THE French so skilful in each jockeying art, 
Have stole the Plate, for which they durst not start : 
Yet why not start ? since this our tars can tell, 
If they don't fight our ships, they run them well. 
/ ' 

EPIGRAM 



i 51 ) 

/ 

EPIGRAM II. 

THE French so lean for running sure weremnde, 
Then why of England's speed is France afraid ? 
Besides, by sea they always win the day, 
And beat the English, when they run away. 



IN consequence of of GEORGE the Second 
offering Dr. IF ILLS the Sees of Bath and Welts, in this 
interrogatory way, Ct Whether would you like, Doctor, 
to be Bishop of Bath, or Wells f" The Doctor being a 
North Briton, answered in the broad Scotch accent, 
" Baith, if it please your Majesty," which set the King 
a laughing, as the Doctor's pronunciation was so ambi- 
guous, it would apply either to the Words Bath, or both. 



SAYS Dr. Wills, in George the second's reign, 
Who tried to pose the Doctor, but in vain, 
Your Majesty is pleas'd of me to ask, 
To answer which I find no arduous task ; 
Whether of Bath, or Wells, I'd Bisbdp be ? 
Baith, if it please you, Sire, would best suit me 
For I prefer the two Sees, to the one See. 



■} 



FINIS. 



amBB3»saws«wsR» 



JN EXPLANATORY NOTE. 

We now present Mr. and Mrs. Day's Poetry, 
commencing with that of Mr. Day's. Mr. T, 
Lowndes never having considered his Poetry 
in any other light, than as increasing the size 
of the work. 



('•> 



These four pages with asterisks have been added since 

the rest of Mr. Day's Poetry was printed 

ojf, having been accident ally found 

among some old papers. 



TO MISS ***** 
BY MR. DAY. 



Oh thou ! within whose gentle breast, 
Each milder passion reigns confest, 
"Whose feeling soul has learned to glow 
"With soft concern for ev'ry woe ! 
Oh, dearer to my wounded mind, 
Thus tender, pitying, artless, kind, 



Than 



(*) 

Than when o'er aw'd by beauty's blaze 
The wond'ring youths transported gaze ! 
For not the lustre of thy face, 
AdornM with ev'ry matchless grace ; 
For not the lightnings of thine eye, 
Could e'er excite one tender sigh. 
Let vulgar souls, by these inspir'd, 
With transports fond and vain be nVd ; 
For these neglect the trump of fame, 
Or honour's wreath, or glory's flame : 
But when to deck the brow of youth, 
Are twin'd the sacred flow'rs of truth; 
When innocence with candour join'd, 
Protect anc} guide the virgin's mind, 
*Tis then, in vain by wisdom -steel'd, 
The wise, the virtuous learn to yield ; 
Then fall the gen'rous and the brave, 
And reason stoops to be a slave. 
Oh, free frpm all thy sex's wiles, 
Their fickle tears, their faithless smiles, 
Whose mind no worthless youth shall move, 
With passion wild, or lawless love! 



Oh! 



(* ) 

Oh ! when, as fate directs my way, 
To foreign climes I joyless stray ; 
While ocean's wild waves round me roar, 
And bear me far from Albion's shore ! 
When gloomy storms obscure the sky, 
Wilt thou not sometimes breathe a sigh ? 
And sometimes ask, with pious prayer, 
That heav'n my destin'd head may spare ? 
Then should remembrance to thy view, 
The scenes of former days renew ; 
Wilt thou not sometimes wish to see, 
The youth who wanders far from thee ? 
And should the ruthless fates ordain, 
That I must press a foreign plain, 
While near no friend, no parent stands, 
To faintly clasp my dying hands ! 
Wilt thou not shed one pitying tear^ 
In pious sorrow o'er my bier ? 
Wilt thou not then, lament to see 
The youth who wanders far from thee ? 
So, gentle maid, may every pow'r, 
Protect and guide thy virgin hour ! 



Thy 



( * ) 

Thy days be crownM with calm delight, 
Whilst angels guard thee thro' the night ! 
And should some worthy youth e'er move, 
Thy gen'rous mind with mutual love, 
All kind and constant may he be, 
As he who wanders far from thee S 



TO THE AUTHORESS 

OF 

1 Verses to be inscribed on Delia's Tomb/ 

OWEET Poetess, whose gentle numbers flow, 
With all the artless energy of woe ! 
The choicest wreath, oh lovely maid ! be thine, 
Which pity offers at the muse's shrine. 
Were there a strain of pow'r to sooth the care 
Of bitt/rest anguish, and assuage despair, 
Thy gen'rous verse might ev'ry bosom cheer, 
And wipe from ev'ry eye the falling tear ! 
But there are transports of the secret soul, 
Which not the muses sacred charms controut : 
When ruin'd innocence condemned to bleed, 
Mourns the remembrance of the fatal deed: 
While stern contempt attends, and public hate, 
And shame remorseless points the dart of fate ; 

x Yet 



( 2 ) 

Yet shall thy votive wreath unfading bloom> 

A grateful off'ring to thy Delia's tomb. 

There, while celestial mercy beams confest, 

And sooths the mourner to eternal rest, 

Be fancy's mildest softest visions seen, 

And forms aerial glitter o'er the green ! 

Such forms as oft, by bow *r and haunted streams^ 

Descend mysterious on the poet's dreams ! 

There, borne by hov'ring zephyrs thro' the air, 

Returning spring shall wave her dewy hair; 

While Flora, mistress of the milder year, 

Marks ev'ry flow'r she scatters with a tear. 

There, when the gloom of midnight stills the plains* 

The sacred guardians of immortal strains, 

To ev'ry blast shall bid their tresses flow, 

And pour the sweet majestic sounds of woe ! 

Lives there a virgin in the secret shade, 

Not yet to shame by perjur'd man betray'd l 

This sacred spot instructed let her tread 

And bend in silent anguish o'er the dead ! 

She once like thee, to hope's gay vision born, 

Shone like the lustre of the dewy morn ; 

One- 



( s) 

One hour of guilt, one fatal hour is o'er, 

Lo, youth, and hope, and beauty are no more ! 

Go now in mirth the fleeting hours employ, 

Go snatch the flow'rs of transitory joy ! 

Let feast and revelry prolong the night, 

The lyre transport thee, and the dance delight; 

Yet be one pause of sad reflection giv'n, 

To the low voice of Delia, and of Heav'n ! 

That voice which lises from her dreary tomb, 

And calls thee to its solitary doom ; 

Dims ev'ry taper, palls the mant'ling wine, 

And blasts the wreath, which love and pleasure twine ! 

And thou, oh youth ! whom meditation leads, 

With pensive step, along these glistening meads, 

If yet thy bosom unseduc'd, and pure. 

Ne'er worshipM fortune's shiine or pleasure's lure; 

If at the tale ofinnocence opprest, 

Strong indignation struggle in thy breast ; 

If in thy constant soul soft pity glow, 

And foes to virtue be thy only foe, 

Approach this spot, and mark with pitying eyes, 

How low the young, the fair, the gentle lies ; 

B2 Be 



( 4 ) 

Be the stern virtue of thy soul resign'd, 
Let gushing tears attest thy yielding mind I 
Swear by the dread avenger of the tomb, 
By all thy hopes, by Death's tremendous gloom I 
That ne'er by thee deceivM, the tender maid 
Shall mourn her easy confidence betray'd ; 
Nor weep in secret thy triumphant art, 
With bitter anguish rankling in her heart. 
So may each blessing, which impartial fate, 
Show'rs on the good, but snatches from the great. 
Adorn thy favor' d course with rays divine, 
And heav'n's best gift, a virtuous love be thine! 



WRITTEN 



(S) 



WRITTEN DURING A TOUR TO THE 
WEST OF ENGLAND. 

Ilk ipso tecum coiisumercr ccro, 

£ ROM ev'ry rich and gaudy scene, 

Which erouded capitals display, 
I court the solitary green, 

Or o'er the pathless mountains stray. 

From vice, from folly, pomp, and noise, 

On Reason's wings I fly : 
All hail \e long expected joys 

Of calm tranquillity ! 

At least in this secure retreat, 

Unvisited by kings, 
iHas virtue fix'd her halcyon seat, 

And freedom waves her wings. 

b3 O 



(6) 

O gentle Lady of the West, 

Whose charms on thib sequestered shore, 
With love can fire a stranger's breast ; 

A breast that never lov'd before ! 

O tell me, in what silent vale, 

To hail the balmy breath of May, 

Thy tresses floating on the gale, 

All simply neat, thou deign'st to stray; 

Not such thy look, not such- thy air, 
Not such thy unaffectec! grace ; 

As 'mid the town's deceitful glare, 

Mark the proud nymph's disdainful face. 

Health's rosy bloom upon thy cheek, 
Eyes that with artless lustre roll, 

More eloquent than words to speak 
The genuine feelings of the soul. 



l *£>^ 



Such be thy form ! thy noble mind 
By no false culture led astray ; 

V>y native sense alone refin'd 

In reason's plain and simple *way. 



Indifferent 



( 7) 

IndifPrent if the eye of fame, 

Thy merit unobserving see ; 
And heedless of the praise or blame 

Of all mankind, of all but me. 

O gentle Lady of the West ! 

To find thee be my only task ; 
When found, I'll clasp thee to my breast : 

No haughty birth, or dow'r I ask. 

Sequester' d in some secret glade, 
With thee unnotie'd would I live; 

And if Content adorn the shade, 

What more can Heav'n or Nature give ? 

Too long deceivM by pomp's false glare, 1 
'Tis thou must soothe my soul to rest ; 

*Tis thou must soften ev'ry care, 
O gentle Lady of the West ! 



b4, the 



(8) 

THE FOLLOWING VERSES WERE 
ADDRESSED TO Mrs. DAY, 

During an absence of a few weeks into the North of Englan ' 

JuET lighter Bards in sportive numbers play, 

Weave the gay wreath, or join the choral lay, 

Round pleasure's altar fading chaplets twine, 

And deck their temples with the madd'ning vine ! 

My chaster muse selects, for fancy's dream, 

A dearer object, and a nobler theme. 

For thee, thou dear companion of my soul ! 

She bids spontaneous numbers artless roll ; 

Nor scorns the sacred lyre, which long had hung 

Forgotten in the shade, untouch'd, unstrung! 

Oh ! while thy friend, thy more than lover strays 

Thro' this vain world's inexplicable maze, 

Shall not remembrance strive with mimic art. 

To soothe the secret anguish of his heart ? 

Come then, thou friend of solitary care ! 

Unfold the canvas, and the tints prepare; 

Till the fair form in full proportion rise, 

Confest to view, and swim before his eyes ! 

$iay 1783. THEsg 



(9) 



THESE 

LINES, WRITTEN BY MR. DAY, 

UPON THE DEATH OF A FRIEND, 

JFere thought so applicable to himself, that they xcere put 
upon his own Tomb Stone. 

JjEYOND the rage of time, or fortune's pow'r 
Remain, cold stone ! remain, and mark the hour 
When all the noblest gifts, which Heav'n e'er gave, 
Were center* d in a dark untimely grave. 
Oh, taught on reason's boldest wings to rise> 
And catch each glimm'ring of the op'ning skies! 
Oh, gentle bosom ! oh, unsullied mind ! 
Oh, friend to truth, to virtue, and mankind ! 
Thy dear remains we trust to this sad shrine, 

Secure to feel no second loss like thine ! 

*,< K 

, THE 



( 10 ) 

THE 
FOLLOWING VERSES WERE WRITTEN BY HIM, 

Upon the Death of Colonel Laurens. 

IiERE the last prey of that destructive rage 

Which shook the world, and curs'd a guilty age; 

Here youthful Laurens yielded up his breath, 

And seal'd a Nation's Liberties in Death. 

O may that Country, which he fought to save, 

Shed sacred tears upon his early grave ! 

And fame which urg'd him on to meet his doom, 

Bid all her laurels flourish round his tomb ! 

But vain, alas ! to soothe a father's woe, 

The mould'ring trophies glory can bestow ! 

O'er thy sad urn, O much lov'd youth, reclin'd, 

What fond ideas rush upon his mind ! 

All, all the hopes thy childhood could inspire, 

Thy youth's mild dawn, thy manhood's active fire ! 

But chief, that native gentleness of soul, 

Which neither war nor passion could controul ! 

Dear to the human lace, but doubly dear 

To him who pours this tributary tear, 

Who mourns the public losses., and his own, 

Arid with a trembling hand inscribes this stone. 



Ma* 



( n ) 



MR. DAY, 

Has gke?i a short but pathetic Eulogium of this Young 
Gentleman, in a Nate subjoined to his Fragment of a 
Letter on the Slavery of Negroes ; and he again de- 
plores the fate of his Friend in the following Verses, 
uhich hate been found among his Papers. 

Oil, by the Delawar's resounding shores, 
Or, where the Brounx its humble tribute pours, 
Or, where responsive to the captive's woe, 
The th unerring waves of Saratoga flow ; 
What shrieks of woe were heard along the plain, 
What tides of gen'rous blood increas'd the main^ 
When Britain's banners, to the winds unroll'd, 
Shook death and vengeance from each angry fold, 
And touch'd with sacred rage and freedom's charms, 
Jhe western world exulting rush'd to arms, 

O fatal 



C 12 ) 

O fatal fields ! where civil discord gave 
Such wide destruction to the kindred brave ; 
Strewn o'er your deserts, bleak and wild they lie* 
Exposed to ev'ry blast that chills the sky. 
Thither the screaming falcon wings his way, 
Thither the wolf, and ev'ry beast of prey ; 
Loud howls the forest to the savage roar, 
And the fell eagle bathes his plumes in gore. 
There oft as ev'ning lights her paly lamp, 
And shrouds the drear expanse with mantle damp, 
The wand'ring peasant stops, with fear aghast, 
To hear ideal wailings in the blast ; 
While gliding o'er the melancholy green, 
The angry ghosts of mighty chiefs are seen ; 
Backward he turns his steps, nor dares to tread 
The dreadful haunts of the majestic dead. 

But ah I no sounds that sadden in the wind, 
No shadowy forms can daunt the virgit/s mind, 
That nightly wander's o'er the gloomy plain, 
To seek with pious steps a lover slain — 
From blazing hearths and cheerful roof she flies, 
Despair and madness blended in her eyes, 
"3" lie wintry tempest lifts her floating hair, 
Howls round her head, and chills her bosom bare; 

White 



( 13 ) 

While reckless she of comfort, and of life, 

Hears nor regards the elemental strife; 

But stretch'd, unhappy mourner ! on the ground* 

Eends o'er the dead, and kisses ev'ry wound. 

In vain the rising morn dispels the dew, 

The rising morn beholds her grief renew ; 

In vain returning shades of night descend, 

No shades of night shall give her sorrows end; 

Till Death, in pity, wings his blunted dart, 

And life's last tide is frozen at her heart. 

O fatal fields ! tho* many a warrior's ghost 
Has wing'd his flight untimely from your coast - 9 
Did you e'er view a nobler victim slain, 
To glut the bloody rites of Freedom's fane, 
Than when the valiant Laurens met his doom* 
And sunk, lamented, to an early tomb* 



AN 



( 14 ) 



AN ELEGY 



TO A YOUNG LADY. 



X ET once again, in yonder myrtle bow'rs, 

Whence rose-lipp'd zephyrs, hov'ring, shed perfume, 
I weave the painted radiance of the flow'rs, 
And press coy Nature in her days of bloom. 

Shall she, benignant, to the wond'ring eyes 
Of the lone hermit all her charms unfold f 

Or, gemm'd with dew, bid her gay florets rise 
To grace the rustic master of the fold ? 

Shall these possess her bright, her fragrant store, 
These spatch the wreath, by plaitic Nature wove, 

Nor wanton summer yield one garland more 
To grace the bosom of the nymph I love ? 

For 



( 15 ) 

For she shall come ; with her each sister grace, 
With her the kindred pow'rs of harmony, 

The deep recesses of the grove shall trace, 
And hang with flow'rs each consecrated tree* 

Blithe Fancy too shall spread her glittering plumes, 
She loves the white cliffs of Britannia's isle, 

She loves the spot where infant Genius blooms, 

She loves the spot, where Peace and Freedom smile. 

Unless her aid the mimic queen bestow, 
In vain fresh garlands the low vales adorn ; 

In vain with brighter tints the florets glow, 
Or devvdrops sparkle on the brow of morn. 

Opes not one blossom to the spicy gale, 

Throws not one elm its moss wreath'd branches wide,, 
Wanders no rill thro' the luxuriant vale, 

Or, glist'ning, rushes down the mountain side, 

But thither, with the morning's earliest ray, 

Fancy has wing'd her ever-mazy flight, 

To hymn wild carols to returning day, 

And catch the fairest beams of orient Hgh£ 

Proud 



( 16) 

froucl of the theft she mounts her lucid car, 
Her car the rainbow's painted arch supplies ; 

Her swift wing'd steeds unnumbered loves prepare, 
An countless zephyrs waft her thro' the skies. 

There, while her bright wheels pause in cloudless air. 
She waves the magic sceptre of command, 

And all her flatt'ring visions, wild as fair, 
Start into life beneath the potent wand. 

Here, proudly nodding o'er the vale below, 
High rocks of pearl reflect the morning ray, 

Whence gushing streams of azure nectBr flow, 
And tinge the trickling herbage on their way. 

These, cullM from ev'ry mountain, ev'ry plain, 
Perennial flow'rs the ambient air perfume, 

Far off stern Boreas holds his drear domain, 

Nor chains the streams, nor blights the sacred bloom. 

Thro' all the year, in copse and tangled dale, 

Lone Philomel her song to Venus pours, 

What lime pale Ev'ning spreads the dewy veil, 

What time the red Morn blushes on the shores. 

Illusive 



( 17 ) 

Illusive visions ! O, not here, — not here, 
Does Spring eternal hold her placid reign, 

Already Boreas chills the alt'ring year, 

And blasts the purple daughters of the plain. 

So fade my promis'd joys!— fair scenes of bliss, 
Ideal scenes, too long believ'd in vain, 

Plung'd down and swallow'd deep in Time's abyss !- 
So veering Chance, and ruthless fates ordain. 

Thee, Laura, thee, by fount, or mazy stream, 
Or thicket rude, unpress'd by human feet, 

I sigh, unheeded, to the moon's pale beam ; 
Thee, Laura, thee, the echoing hills repeat. 

Oh ! long of billows wild, and winds the sport, 
Seize, seize the safe asylum that remains ! 

Here Truth, Love. Freedom, Innocence resort, 
And offer long oblivion to thy pains. 

When panting, gasping, breathless, on the strand 
The shipwreck'd mariner reclines his breast, 

Say, shall he scorn the hospitable hand, 
That points to safety, liberty, and rest ? 



But 



( 18 ] 

But thou, too soon forgetful of past woe, 

Again would'st tempt the winds, and treacherous sea 5 
Ah ! shall the raging blast forget to blow, 

Shall ev'ry wintry storm be hush'd for thee ? 

Not so ! I dread the elemental war, 

Too soon, too soon the ealm, deceitful, flies ; 

1 hear the blast come whistling from afar, 
I see the tempest gath'ring in the skies. 

Yet let the tempest roar !*— love scorns all harms, 
I plunge amid the storm, resolv'd to save; 

This hour, at least, I clasp thee in my arms* 
The next let ruin join us in the grave. 



VERSES5 



( J9) 



VERSES, 



ADDRESSED 



TO FREEDOM. 



- <c A most notorious villain* 



To, see the sufferings of my fellow creatures, 
And own myself a man ; to see our senators 
Cheat the deluded people with a shew 
Of Liberty, which yet they ne'er must taste of." 

Venice Preserved. 



VvHETHER reclining on the mouldering tomb 
Of murder'd Brutus, where Italia's shore, 
Dash'd by the foaming deep, exalts her head 
Above the raging waves, thou mourn'st the cries 
Of Virtue sinking with his Cato's fall ; 
Or brooding o'er the ruins of thy Greece, 
Sit'st in triumphant state on the wild rocks, 
Which overhang, with gloomy shade, the fields 
Of slaughter dy'd Thermopylae ; what time 

c 2 The 



( 20 ) 

The North-wind rages o'er the swelling seasy 

And howls along the main : while equal horrors 

Rise in thy mind, and wake its slumbering fires. 

Where'er thou deign'st to dwell, from war, from death? 

From gasping Patriots, and self-murder'd Chiefs, 

Once more, O Goddess ! spread thy fostering plumes. 

And wing thy rapid way along the sky 

To Gallia's shores ; with thee the sister arts, 

With thee shalF science swell her letter' d page, 

Rich with the spoils of Time, while Virtue's han4 

Expands the Laws of Heaven to human kind. 

Fragrant the morning breathes along the vate; 

Soft trill the mountain lark's aerial notes ; 

The swallow twitters from her straw- built nest, 

While the white swan, with more majestic pride, 

Exalts her snowy breast above the wave, 

And stems the sun gilt pool ; for thou art there, 

Thy presence animates the glowing fields, 

Smiles through the grove, upborne on Zephyr's wing, 

And dances on the stream ; the finny race 

Catch the soft joy, and with transparent fins 

Now cut the surface of the glassy flood, 

Now plunge amidst the deeps, then rising dart 

Their silver brightness into upper air : 

'Tis Heaven born Liberty inspires the whole. 

TK«r 



( 21 ) 

The various animals upon the earth, 

With those that skim the air, or dive the main. 

Thy potent magic influence obey. 

The first chief principle of all around, 

To Freedom stamp'd by Nature's forming hand; 

Her characters indelible inspire, 

A love superior to the life, which breathes 

Through the dull clod, and animates their clay. 

Thine, Goddess, is the chain, whose stable force 

Connects the world, and like the central point 

Attracts ail earthly beings to itself, 

With unresisting power, eternal sway ! 

Beneath the fiery radiance of the sun, 

Where glow the Lvbian plains, and torrid zone, 

Where nor green tree, with wide extended shade, 

Invites the traveller to calm repose ; 

Nor bubbling fountain murmurs in the ear 

With health distilling draughts, but endless plagues 

Rage o'er the barren soil, and whirlwinds sweep 

The gathering atoms of collected sands 

Along the groaning desart, there, e'en there, 

Thy voice still echoes through the gloomy wilds, 

And fires the serpent's rage. Aloft he rears 

flis shining back, which with resplendent scales , 

c 3 Reflects 



(22 ) 

Reflects the dazzling ray ; dreadful he gleams 
Along the scorching waste, with monstrous folds, 
Threatening destruction ; from his angry eyes 
Flash sparks of horrid flame ; so thro' the sky 
The Comet rolls an hideous length, around 
Shrink the pale stars before its baneful fires, 
Jnstinct through ail is free, but man alone 
The boasted Lord of Reason bows before 
Ambition's tott'ring mound, submits his back 
And bears the oppressive load : the fierce driver 
(Proudly exulting) shakes the whirling whip, 
And strains the tight'ning rein : around him throng 
The many headed crowd; while senatoi 5, 
Tribunes, prefects, nay and soldiers too, 
Deify a foreign base usurper, 
For his treachery, and emulously strive 
To pave his way to empire, pleas' d to shew 
Their badge of baseness, and unmanly chains. 
How long, O Goddess, shall France mourn in vain, 
Thy sacred presence, and with fruitless rage 
Strain the tile bonds, which bind her fast to shame ? 
But why in vain } Yet, yet, the freeborn soul, 
Shall rise vindictive, triumph o'er her chains, 
Replume her sparing wings, re-urge her flight, 

Ani 



( ** ) 

And trample on oppression : like the flame 

Which heap'd with crackling faggots yields awhile, 

Till bursting sudden through the opposing pile, 

Again it blazes in the face of day 

With tenfold rage, not varjquish'd, but opprest. 

Tremble ye sons of Rapine, tremble all 

Who dare betray theircountry ; venal souls 

Whose God is gain ! who dare to hear the cries . 

Of Liberty, nor hapten to her aid. 

How shall ye meet her frown ? How stand the shock, 

When arm'd with terror, and array \i in light, 

She marches forth, her head above the clouds, 

And shakes the dreadful lash of Conscience down ? 

Down to the depths of hell ; hid mountains crush, 

Seas swell, and billows rise to hide your crimes ; 

Bid night obscure them in her murky veil, 

And clouds of ten-fold darkness Chaos press, 

Amidst the fall of worlds, and general wreck. 

In vain, where e'er she comes, gloom disappears, 

Seas part their waves, and leave the wond'ring shores ; 

Forth from the black abyss, and formless mass, 

PerennialBeauty smiles, and Order lifts 

Her blooming head, with verdant laurels crown'd. 

c4 O Goddess 



( £4 ) 

O Goddess from the uncultur'd wild, 
Where thron'd in savage state, thou smil'st to see 
The untutor'd Indian hurl his flint arm'd spear, 
And mock at tortures, with a soul more firm 
Than all the boasted heroes, which adorn 
The annals of antiquity, what time 

The Roman greatness aw'd the cow'ring world, 
Haste thou, and dreadful cast thy vengeful bolt ; 
Dash Gallia's treach'rous spoilers from their pride ; 
Give independance to her conquer'd states. 
On the firm base of justice, truth, and virtue, 
Re-mould her present abject government. 
Grant her a less tyrannick monarchy, 
A sovereign, mild, fix'd, hereditary, 
One too selected from the Bourbon race, 
Grant this, if not for their superior merit, 
In pity to good Louis' unjust sufferings. 
Then re-instate thy long expected sway, 
To rule mankind, and bid the world adore. 



VERSES 



{ 25) 



VERSES 

Addressed to a Young Lady, hy the same, 1775. 



INNOCENT and mildly gay, 

As flow'rs that deck the brow of May, 

Cheeks that shame the op'ning rose, 

And bosom where the lilly blows, 

Ev'ry love and ev'ry grace, 

Are seen in Hannah's form and face ; 

But ah ! what words can paint her mind, 

By ev'ry gentle art refin'd ? 

Dignity with female ease, 

The will with all the pow'rs to please ! 

Syren sounds that charm the ear, 

Wisdom that the sage might hear ! 

Sounds where Venus did impart 

AH her own resistless art, 



And 



(26 ) 

And tempt the good, the wise, the brave, 
To wear her chains, and be a slave. 
Pity that misfortune nigh, 
Melts with tears the glist'ning eye, 
And matchless faith untaught to range* 
And constancy that knows no change ! 
O what happy youth shall be* 
Destin'd lovely maid for thee ? 
For him the rosy pinion'd hours 
Shall strew life's thorny path with flow'rs ; 
Ev'ry smiling morn shall bring 
Matchless blessings on its wing! 
And each returning ev'ning shed 
Content and peace, to smooth his bed ! 
But I, alas! must see those charms 
Consigned to bless another's arms! 
Perhaps some more accomplished youth, 
That wants my tenderness and truth ! 
Whose breast ne'er knew the secret pain, 
To love like me, and love in vain, 



IN 



(27 ) 

I 

IN PRAISE OF 

HORATXUS COCLES. 

A celebrated Roman, the prototype, T trust, of almost every 
armed Citizen of the British Empire, as almost every 
armed British Citizen would* I have no doubt, un a simi- 
lar occanon, an event scarce possible to happen, prove 
himself an Horatim Cocks, or an Horatio ISclson. 

Y ET a short space, and o'er the fatal ground 

Destructive Mars shall deal his shafts around ; 

While Death, exulting o'er the streaming plain, 

Grows rich in blood, and riots in the slain* 

In close wedg'd ranks advance the hostile Powers, 

And pale Rome trembles from her loftiest tow'rs. 

What then, shall fell ambition swallow all, 

Shall haughty Tarquin reign, and Freedom fall? 

Shall Rome now feel a tyrant's vengeful blow, 

And plunge still deeper in the gulph of woe ? 

Forbid it, Heav'n ! thou too Porsenna spare, 

If suffring Virtue can deserve thy care ! 

Yet, yet be firm and dare the storm ! thy fate 

g}jall rise superior to the tyrant's hate, 

Shall 



( 28 ) 

fill all meet the rapid whirlwind in its course, 
Nor fear unequal arms, or mightier force. 
Thus 'midst the wintry storms, while Boreas flies 
O'er groaning earth, and shoots athwart the skies; 
While the pale garden withers, by its side 
Blooms the green fir-tree in perennial pride. 
Fair Virtue interpos'd, her succour gave, 
And snatch'd her fav'rite from oblivion's wave. 
Enthron'd in Heaven, with a prophetic mind, 
She saw proud banners waving in the wind j 
Saw nodding helmets, close compacted shields, 
And Tarquin's legions scou'ring o'er the fields. 
Swift as the lightning, flew the heav'nly guest, 
And fix'd her dwelling in Cocles's breast. 
Here while her potent force the soul inspires, 
Horatius burns with more than mortal fires. 
Thus thro' the mantling gloom, and shades of night, 
Shines pallid Cynthia, with reflected light, 
And cheers the dusky orb ; with gentle beam 
iGilds the dark trees, and dances on the stream. 
But panick struck, behold the Romans fly, 
The battle rages, and the foe draws nigh, 

Whik 



( ^ ) 

While Codes leaning on His warlike ppear, 

Thus reasons with himself, unmov'd by fearj 

" Should force united, vet'ran legions fail, 

Can single valour turn the sinking scale ; 

Alone, unaided shall I dare to stand, 

And meet the fury of yon hostile band ? 

Or to insulting Tarquin yield the day, 

And follow where Rome's warriors lead the way y 

Fly to the city with unmanly dread, 

By base born fear, and coward terrors led : 

Where trembling temples from their spiry height* 

Where Gods and Liberty upbraid my flight ; 

No : dearer than myself, and father's shade, 

When R.ome and Liberty demand my aid, 

Not like a coward shall Horatius fly 

The field, where glory calls, and fear to die. 

If to a tyrant such success is giv'n, 

If Liberty can find no friend in Heav'n, 

If to my pray'rs averse, the God's command 

That Rome must perish, by a tyrant's hand, 

That foreign hands must wrap her tow'rs in flame, 

Let me first fall, nor view my country's shame ; 

Dash'd on some rock, which,while rough whirlwinds blow ? 

Frowns dreadful on the wat'ry plains below ; 

9 md& 



(30) 

'Midst adverse legions and encountering foes, 
Where the fight rages, and the battle glows, 
With dauntless heart to perish do I go." 
The hero spoke, then rush ? d upon the foe, 
And pois'd the dart of death, and twang'd the deadly 
bow* 



} 



Am 



AN APOLOGY. 



SEEING with the partial eye of enthusiastic Friend- 
ship, I can discern very few defects in the following 
Poetry of Mrs. Day, but to those who see through 
a different medium, I think it necessary to say this, 
which I can vouch for the truth of; that Mis. Day 
wrote almost all the following piecps of Poetry, between 
eleven and flfteen,during her vacations from Mrs.Dennis's 
justly celebrated Female Boarding School, in Queen- 
Square, and therefore, her juvenile age, and her having 
no professional Master or Mistress to correct what 
she had written, will, I trust, be a sufficient apology 
for any imperfections that may appear in the language, 
versification, or ideas. 

As 



(32 ) 

As to her Themes, and miscellaneous Prose prcJuc- 
Auctions, which I mean to publish some time or other, 
Mrs, Day, or more properly speaking, Miss Milnes, 
wrote with such fluency and perspicuity, that they re- 
quired scarce any correcting. The clearness and fer- 
tility of her understanding, her chaste judgment, and 
volubility of language, made her almost infallible in 

Prose. 

i 

Like Cowley, the Muse inspired Miss Milnes at a very 
early period, but she did not, like that much admired 
Bard, continue through life to cultivate her genius for 
making verses. Though she was to her death passionately 
fond of the poetic Muse, 1 cannot find a single piece 
of her Poetry written after sixteen. 

Probably Miss Milnes's poetical flowering shrub, ne- 
ver having the oak like vigour of Cowley's, was exhausted 
by blossoming so early, and from its premature growth, 
united to its extreme delicacy, the frequent result of 
shrubs or plants growing too fast, at the first rude touch 
of envious criticism, shrunk up, withered, and died. 



Or 



( S3 ) 

Or, Apollo thinking the poor puny shrub not worth 
shining upon, might withdraw, in a fit of contemptuous 
passion, his all fostering rays, and by that, occasion 
Miss Milnes's poetical blossoms, like the flower of the 
convolvolus, to close their petals, as if for grief at the 
sun's departure. And her poetical shrub might not 
re-blossom, because Apollo seemed, in her mind, to 
have set, never again to irradiate her Muse, 

Indeed, it is most probable Miss Milnes, being naturally 
very diffident, had such a humble opinion of her poeti- 
cal talents, as induced her to imagine she should never 
arrive at that perfection she wished to attain to, in every 
thing where the mind was concerned, and therefore bid 
an eternal adieu to poetising. 

From whatever cause it has proceeded, I must own 
I have been equally astonished and sorry that so early 
a poetical impulse, and of so promising a nature, should 
have been so soon blighted ; and I was the more sur- 
prised, as Master Apollo has not deigned to illume my poe- 
try for some years, if ever he darted a single ray of light 
upon it, which I much doubt myself, when I read it ; 
d yet 



(34) 

yet I have endeavoured occasionally to supply the want 
of his cherishing beams, by working up my poetical fer* 
vor to an unusual glow ; from thinking* whatever other 
people may imagine, that I have by fits and starts, a 
tolerable good knack at versifying, and possess some 
small share of poetic fire. 

I shall incorporate Mrs. Day's poetry with her Hus- 
band's, by numbering the pages as if it were a conti* 
nuation of his, (though all Mr. Day's detached piece* 
of poetry worth publishing I have now printed,) because, 
as in life their whole souls were wrapped up in each 
other, I think it congenial with their mutual ardent 
affection, that their minds embodied, as it were, by 
printing their poetry, should appear united upon paper ; 
and 1 am sure, if their departed spirits could see what 
was doing here below, and had no objection to my 
printing a few of their poetical blossoms, they would 
approve of such an union. 

It was from the extraordinary similarity in their taste, 
disposition, and understanding, from their hearts and 
Blinds being so exactly in unison, that I have not written 

an 



( 35 ) 

an epitaph or memento of Mrs. Day's death, and not 
from want of poetic inspiration, or zealous affection ; 
I considered an epitaph on her, would be only an enu- 
meration of similar virtuous qualities with those of her 
deceased Husband, and therefore, though her death was 
as heartfelt, irreparable a loss to her friends as her Hus- 
band's to his, I did not give way to the impulse of grief 
by writing one, supposing what I had said of Mr. Day's 
mind and disposition in my epitaph upon him, would 
apply as much to his surviving wife, as to himself, 
touching all those excellent and great mental qualifica- 
tions, which may be alike possessed by either sex. I 
have therefore always considered my verses on Mr.Day's 
death, in some measure as applicable to both. 

The pleasing simplicity which prevails through 
Mrs. Day's poetry, whatever its poetical merits may be, 
is an exact and faithful representation of the genuine 
goodness of her heart, and the unaffected simplicity of 
her manners, as all who had the pleasure of knowing her 
will acknowledge ; which characteristic occasioned her 
an unusual number of sincere female friends, ardent 
in their friendship to her, as the sun at noon-day. Her 
d 2 piety 



(36) 

piety too, which forms so distinguishing a feature In 
almost all her juvenile productions, appears as ardent 
as their friendship. 

That her friendship kept pace with that of her friends, 
and throbbed with as strong and quick pulses, I am 
thoroughly convinced of from my own experience. 



( 37 ) 



Characters of some of Mrs. Day's most inti- 
mate Friends, written when she was 
fourteen. 



CHARACTER of MISS A. W. 

A PURE exalted Soul, that's richly fraught 
With native sense, and dignity of thought : 
Tun'd to those finer feelings of the breast, 
By numbers feign'd, but ah ! by few possest. 
Her's, tender softness mix'd with gen'rous fire,' 
And all that heartfelt goodness can inspire. 
Her friendship strong, and ardent as her soul, 
Fix'd as magnetic needle to the Pole ; 
Whilst scorning all the varying forms of art, 
Truth is the sacred inmate of her heart. 
Thus would my pen that mental image trace, 
Which nothing e'er can from my mind efface. 

P 3 CHARACTER 



( 38 ) 



CHARACTER OF 
MISS P. W. 

AN her the head and heart their treasures blend ? 

With sense to charm, and worth to fix the friend* 

Enlighten'd knowledge, deep reflexion join'd 

To polish'd taste, and elegance of mind. 

Her virtues flow, pure from their parent source^ 

Religion's vital, animating force ; 

And all her passions Reason's voice obey, 

The willing captives of such gentle sway. 

Tho' oft unable to relieve distress, 

She feels the warm expanded wish to bless, 

That sacred wish ascends the realms above, 

A grateful off ring to the God of Love. 



CHARACTER 



(39 > 



CHARACTER OF 
Mrs. M. 

iiER breast is Virtue's mansion, where we find 
Each bright intrinsic jewel of the mind. 
There humble wisdom, piety reside, 
Sweet artless goodness, unalloy'd with pride, 
Indulgent candour, which delights to praise, 
To veil a weakness, and a virtue raise, 
A patient mildness, from resentment free, 
Quick to forgive offence, and slow to see. 
A Christian temper, studious to compose 
The jarring passions of mistaken foes ; 
Blest by the lips of him whose soul was love, 
And all the gentle meekness of the dove ; 
This groupe of moral graces, to complete, 
Jier heart is love's, maternal friendship's seat, 

»4 CHARACTER 



(40) 

CHARACTER OF Mrs. J. K. 

JlSlEST with a spotless heart, a judgment clear, 

The/ learned humble, tho' polite sincere ; 

Chearful as sprightly youth, discreet and sage 

As deep discerning, all experiene'd age ; 

Tender and soft as woman ought to be, 

And yet from ev'ry female weakness free ; 

Her soul adorn'd with native strength of thought, 

And with each elegant refinement fraught. 

Her piety a principle divine, 

Which does in living, active goodness shine, 

No rigid melancholy aspect wears, 

But drest in smiles, its genuine garb, appears. 

How sweetly she exerts her utmost pow'rs, 

To gild an aged parent's joyless hours, 

Tries with endearing heart to soothe her pains f 

And bless declining worn-out life's remains : 

Such Delia is, oh ! be she ever blest ! 

But blest she must be, her applauding breast, 

That pleasing source of ev'ry new delight, 

Will brighten weeping sorrow's dismal night, 

Or the dull languid bed of sickness cheer, 

Soften each pang, and tranquillize each fear. 



CHARACTER 



(41 ) 



CHARACTER OF THE 
Rev. Mr. T. 

Pi SOUL enlarg'd t above each selfish aim, 

Which soars to loftier views than mortal fame ; 

In whom the vaiious sciences unite, 

To beam with soften'd, and instructive light; 

The Saint, and the Philosopher combine, 

.And all Religion's mildest beauties shine. 

While from his lips, fair truth and knowledge flow, 

Too great, too wise, for learned pomp, and show, 

— We see the Christian's unassuming grace, 

Adorn his manners, stampt upon his face. 

The warm diffusive love of human kind, 

Sweetens, expands, and elevates his mind. 

He can with noble scorn of baseness glow, 

Yet melt with pity for another's woe. 

A faithful pattern of his heav'nly Lord, 

At once he teaches, practises his Word. 

The man, the preacher, both conspire to prove, 

The Gospel breathes Benevolence, and Love, 

TO 



( 42 ) 



TO MISS W. 
WITH MY PICTURE, 

JL HOU child of painting's mimic pencil go, 
A well known face to dear Alicia shew, 
And could thy lips by magic influence move, 
Thou should'st declare my cordial friendly love. 
Tho* not encircled with the diamond's blaze, 
The glowing ruby, or the em'rald's rays, 
1 know to souls like her's, a faithful friend 
Does all luxurious grandeur's gems transcend, 
And she the humble gift will fondly prize, 
That holds a friend's resemblance to her eyes, 
Dh ! may it call our social hours to mind, 
Revive each pleasing trace they left behind; 
While faithful images of past delight, 
llise in succession to her mental sight ; 



Our 



( 43 ) 

Our winter evenings rational, and gay, 

Which converse, books, so sweetly stole away ; 

When fair historic Truth enlargM our views, 

Or tun'd to rapture by the heav'nly muse, 

We tasted pleasures only friendship knows, 

Beyond whate'er from dissipation flows. 

And sure my friend's affection will suggest/ 

The same fond ardent wish which warms my breast, 

That we may shortly meet, and Friendship's pow'r 

Again lend downy wings to many an hour* 



VERSES 



( 44 ) 



VERSES WRITTEN IN A GARDEN, 

When Miss M. was not more than twelve years of age. 

vJNCE on a day, when Sol's bright beam 
Made ev'ry thing more beauteous seem, 
When Nature's face serenely smil'd, 
A father, with his onty child, 
Walk'd in a garden's soft retreat, 
Of ev'ry blooming grace the seat ; 
Where the fond parent silence broke, 
And thus to his fair daughter spoke. 
" You see this garden now, my dear, 
Where choicest flow'rs and shrubs appear ; 
Where Art and Nature both combine; 
On ev'ry spot some beauties shine. 
This does most evidently shew 
What we to care and culture owe, 
Your mind will no less care demand, 
Yes, culture's finest, nicest hand 

Should 



(45) 

Should nurse the seeds of wisdom, worth, 
And call each fair production forth : 
For what avails the happiest soil, 
If we bestow not useful toil ? 
Tho' noblest plants might flourish there, 
Yet when neglected, weeds appear* 
Regard }on op'ning rose, he cry'd, 
See how it blooms in beauteous pride, 
The fairest of the flow'ry race, 
Adorn' d with each attractive grace: 
But ah ! what now so charms thy eye, 
Will soon, alas ! ungather'd die ; 
Or by some hand be snatch'd away, 
Perhaps some child's, in harmless play; 
Thus 'tis with each external charm, 
The transient beauties of a form, 
Soon they desert the brightest maid, 
And all her vain attractions fade. 
Then while improvement's in thy pow'r, 
Seek virtue^ that immortal \Jtow 9 r : 
It yields, my Child, the best perfume, 
And wears an undecaving bloom, 
It will survive e'en nature, time, 



Sifpmg 



(46) 

Sipping each flow'r, behold yon bee$ 

An emblem of man's industry; 

Whilst now the sun with gentle ray, 

Serenely gilds the beauteous clay, 

From flow'r to flow'r how does she fly, 

And load with sweets her little thigh ! 

Each shrub, each plant how she explores, 

And gently sucks their fragrant stores ! 

Of youth's bright sunshine profit then, 

It ne'er, alas ! will come again. 

Of the fair season make the most, 

And let it not be idly lost. 

With wisdom's sweets, oh, store thy mind* 

Her honey thou in age wilt find. 

You see, if we attentive look, 

On Nature's universal book, 

We may the finest lessons learn, 

And wisdom's characters discern ; 

In plants and flow'rs instruction find ; 

An insect can inform the mind, 

And ev'ry thing in nature may, 

Some useful, moral truth convey,'* 



To 



< 47 ) 

To Miss M.'s 
BROTHER IN LAW, MR» L. 

Written when she was about fifteen. 

YOU say, when pierc'd with pow'rful Cupid's dart, 

No more I'll cherish Thyrsis in my heart ; 

If true, oh, never, never, may I prove, 

The force tyrannic of imperious love. 

Approach me not, monopolizing guest, 

If thou must banish Friendship from my breast ; 

For genuine Friendship is a sacred flame, 

Which not the strictest purity can blame. 

Long be thy friendly converse Thyrsis mine, 

Which spotless virtue, polish'd sense refine. 

And when sharp sorrow wounds thy feeling heart, 

Then let me bear a sympathising part. 

Yes, be it my delightful task, to cheer 

Thy upright mind, and wipe the dewy tear, 

Assuage thy grief, with comfort's healing balm, 

And hush thy ev'ry tempest to a calm: 

May I each kind, parental office share, 

And guard thy offspring with maternal care. 

Oh, 



(48 ) 

Oh, with what nameless joy shall I behold 

Gradual, their tender, infant minds unfold ! 

Whilst thou do'st nurse their intellectual seeds, 

And train them up to moral, manly deeds, 

Illume their souls with wisdom's heav'nly ray, 

And guide their steps to Virtue's sacred way. 

Thus blest, my friend, what more can earth bestow, 

What purer bliss can thy Louisa know ? 

Oh ! 'tis a bliss superior far to all 

The world's unthinking votaries pleasure call. 

Permit me now, dear Thyrsis, in thine ear, 

To breathe the wishes of a heart sincere. 

c May'st thou be blest with blooming, constant health, 

And ev'ry Joy that flows from mod'rate wealth. 

May all thy days of life serenely roll, 

And bright Contentment sweetly gild thy soul. 

At length arriv'd at life's remotest stage, 

Mature in ev'ry virtue, as in age, 

May'st thou with calmness yield thy parting breath, 

And gently sink into the shades of death. 

Then thy freed spirit, wing its eagle flight, 

To the bright regions of eternal light ; 

There meet enraptured, thy lamented -wife, 

Once the sweet solace of her partner's life/ 



(49 ) 

The following, written after the put chase of 
TRISTRAM SHANDY, 

Written by Miss M. when about sixteen, 

XjLS high on his celestial throne, 

The great Apollo radiant shone, 

Surrounded by the sacred Nine, 

The Graces and the Arts divine; 

Whilst balmy, swift- wing'd Zephyrs bear 

The pray'rs of mortals to his ear, 

Who court his bright inspiring flame 

To crown their work, with deathless fame.; 

A white rob'd Nymph, with blushing face, 

With downcast eyes, and modest grace, 

Her charms obscur'd by sorrow's cloud.. 

Before the Godhead humbly bow'd. 

With soft timidity she spoke, 

And thus the gen'ral silence broke* 

' Great God of wit, so much adoiM, 

By thousands honor'd, and irnplor'd; 

Dread infamy is in thy frown, 

And in thy gracious smiles renown ; 



But 



(50) 

But say, will bright Apollo deign 
T' inspire the wanton and obscene ; 
Will he not blast them with his ire ? 
And ne'er bestow his heav'nly fire, 
On those who Chastity profane, 
My snow white mantle rudely stain, 
And tear my hallow'd veil away, 
To which the virtuous rev'rence pay* 
One son, one darling son is thine, 
In whom thy gifts celestial shine, 
Whose wit is brilliant, as thy rays, 
And rapid as the lightning's blaze % 
But oft his wit provokes my rage,. 
Licentiousness pollutes his page, 
He wantonly affronts my laws, 
And so betrays fair Virtue's cause; 
I come thus injur' d to complain, 
Apollo, at thy awful fane.' 
Apollo to the lovely maid, 
With mild benignant aspect said, 
e I hear with grief thy just complaints, 
Yorick, I grant, too loosely paints/ 
Then waving gracefully his hand, 
To one amidst his heav'nly band, 



Ik 



(51 ) 

He cried, 'assert thy fav'rite's part, 
Jnspirer of the feeling heart*' 
Lo ! she appear'd divinely fair, 
Distinguish^! by the pensive air, 
The piercing look, the glist'ning eye. 
The trickling tear, and heaving sigh. 
She said, with charming, plaintive tone, 
Peculiar to herself alone, 
1 Oh Yorick, born to teach mankind, 
Godlike benevolence of mind ; 
What soul affecting pow'rs are thine ! 
What strokes of tenderness divine ! 
Thy force the melting bosom feels, 
As down the cheek sweet sorrow steals^ 
And with still eloquence bestows 
A nobler praise, than language knows; 
Tell me, whoe'er unmov'd has read 
Of poor Le Fevre, on his sick bed ! 
What hearts but with warm pity glow, 
At fond Maria's tale of woe ! 
T hen be not, Chastity, severe, 
But shed Compassion's balmy tear, 
(Like Sterne's recording angel) o'er 
Those frailties which the good deplore; 

£ 2 A PRAYER 



(52) 
A PRAYER, 

Written by Miss M. when about fourteen.. 



X HOU everlasting Lord of Heav'n and Earth, 
Who gav'st the beauteous form of Nature birth; 
At whose command, this globe from nothing sprung, 
When all the stars for joy together sung ; 
Whose pow'r divine compos'd the human frame. 
And brcath'd therein, the soul's celestial flame; 
On whom mortality's frai) race depend, 
Before thy dread majestic throne I bend- 
Benign celestial Parent ! deign to hear 
My supplication with a gracious ear; 
Oh ! in the days of giddy, wand'ring youth, 
May I remember Thee, great God of Truth I 
Beware of pleasure's vain, deceitful wiles, 
When drest in all her captivating smiles, 
She tries to alienate my heart from Thee, 
And make my feet from paths of wisdom flee. 

How 



( o3 ) 

How vain the utmost joys that earth can boast^ 

If thy soul gladd'ning approbation's lost. 

Without thy favor, what is al] below ? 

Wealth is but poverty, and grandeur woe ; 

Ne'er may I do thy will thro' servile fear, 

But genuine love, and gratitude sincere, 

Still may their silken cords my service bind, 

Their nobler motives rule my willing mind; 

Since too exalted thy unerring ways, 

Too much bewilder'd in a seeming maze, 

To be in this dark being understood, 

j\lay I, O Lord, omniscient and good, 

Not blindly xrensure, what I can't explore, 

But with a pious confidence adore. 

May that enlargM benevolence be mine, 

That boundless love, that charity divine, 

Which from celestial mansions, Jesus brought, 

By spotless precept, fair example taught : 

That does each vain distinction nobly shun, 

And is diffusive, as the glorious sun ; 

With sweet compassion may my bosom glow, 

May I delight to soften human woe, 

Believe pale want's dejected pining race, 

And dry the tears that cloud the mourner's face ; 

e3 K 



(54 ) 

If dooni'd myself to feel affliction's smart, 
And griefs sharp arrows in my bleeding heart, 
Still way I bless the Author of my pains, 
Convinced in all thy dealings, mercy reigns ; 
Direct my views by faith's enlightening ray, 
To those bright realms of everlasting day, 
Where fleeting, transient sorrows are repaid, 
Crown'd with immortal joys, that never fade. 
May Reason her kind influence maintain, 
And bind my passions with her golden chain, 
Each wild desire, each erring wish control, 
Nor suffer fancy to delude my soul : 
May she from prejudice my mind defend, 
And give me Candour, Truth's impartial friend. 



A MORNING 



< 55 ) 



A MORNING HYMN, 

Written by Miss M. when she was between eleven 
and twelve. 

i\CCEPT my prayers, O Lord, thou source of light i 

Bright Origin of all, from whom proceed 

The beauteous balmy morn, the radiant noon, 

-The sober eve, and awful midnight gloom. 

What gratitude should warm, expand my breast, 

What love, what adoration are thy due, 

When I reflect thy holy bounteous hand 

Feeds, and supports me in my waking hours; 

And in the silent solemn shades of night 

With guardian power protects : to Thee I owe 

Those sound refreshing slumbers that revive 

My drooping powers, whilst on the restless bed 

Of torturing pain, slow wasting languishment, 

Of weeping grief, or deeply gnawing care, 

Thousands incessant toss, and court in vain 

£ 4 Thy 



(56) 

Thy friendly aid, of healing, sweet repose. 

May I, O Power Beneficent, the days 

Which thou with cheerful health, and vigour crown'st, 

Jn wisdom, goodness, piety employ; 

Those sacred fountains of unfading bliss. 

Oh may I, like the sun, whose gentle beams 

Call me from sloth supine, daily pursue 

A calm, benignant course, eternal Lord 

May I, a constant, pleasing series 

Of sweet duties trace, with the mild light 

Of pure Religion, moral Virtue shine. 

Pleas'd to obey my great Creator's laws, 

And tread serene the Heaven appointed way, 

Ne'er may I court the vain delusive breath 

Of mortal praise, but taste the heartfelt joy 

Which from the conscious self-approving mind 

Doth sweetly flow ; may I extend my views 

Beyond the earthly, transient scene of things, 

To that all perfect state, where Virtue weais 

A bright immortal crown, where gloomy night 

Ne'er wiih her sable mantle can approach, 

But cheerful day for ever, ever reign?. 

Written 



(57 ) 



Written upon a Storm of 

THUNDER and LIGHTNING, 

By Miss M. when about twelve Tears of Jge* 

JL HE dark rob'-d tempest cloud's yon azure sky, 
And sits in gloomy majesty enthron'd ; 
Loud o'er our heads tremendous thunder rolls, 
With what keen foice the rapid lightning darts ? 
And with repeated flashes fiercely glares. 
Upon the dazzled eye now beating rain 
Impetuous pours, and now the rattling hail, 
With all the mingled horrors of a storm ; 
Amid this awful scene my soul confides 
In. Nature's Sovereign, whose Almighty hand 
Supports creation's vast, stupendous frame, 
And holds in due subjection every part ; 
Whose wide control the elements confess ; 
Jle stops great Ocean in his proud career, 

'Thus 



(33 ) 

* Thus far/ he cries; 'no further shalf; thou Cainc 5 
But here thy lofty billows shall be stay'd.* 
The vast ungovernable sea obeys, 
The storms that rage at his divine command 
His sacred voice can hush, at once dispel 
The awful frowns, which darken Nature's face, 
And there diffuse the lovely placid smile; 
Behold ! the dreadful tempest now is o'er, 
We breathe a purer, a more balmy air ; 
More lively verdure decks the smiling earth, 
And all is calm, beneficent, and gay. 
May I, if stormy ills obscure my life, 
Thus in the great First Cause, the King of Kings, 
Humbly repose, nor ever let the gloom 
Of dark uncertain doubt, or dire despair 
Overwhelm my soul : then purified by storms, 
My moral day will clearer, calmer shine. 
For this great truth is sure ; if patient borne 
The transient woes of this tempestuous world, 
Then the bright calm uf Heaven's unfading bliss, 
Will be to all eternity our own. 



TO 



( 59 ) 



TO MY BOOKS. 

Written by Miss 1SL when about fourteen. 



1 E dear instructive constant friends, 

Accept a grateful lay, 
For all the moments you have wing'd 
Delightfully away. 

Oft has your potent influence charm'd 
Each gloomy thought to rest, 

And moral sense, or sprightly wit, 
Reliev'd my anxious breast. 

When Nature's beauties all are chill M 

By winter's icy hand, 
In you, exhaustless varied springs, 

Of pleasure I command. 



The 



( 60 ) 

The flame that warms, the flow'rs that bloom 

In fancy's glowing page, 
You yield in spite of chilling frosts, 

And fierce tempestuous rage. 

Not ermin'd grandeur can bestow 

Such genuine, peaceful joys ; 
And more than gems of Indian mines, 

Your sacied stores I prize. 

For oft does wealth on rapid wings 

From our possession fly, 
But the enlightening truths you teach 

Can never, never die. 

In you, past ages I recall, 

Revive the slumbering dead, 
And with illustrious souls converse, 

That Ions from earth have (led. 



J t> 



Since thus you've blest my eaily youth, 

The morning of my days, 
May you, in late declining life, 

My drooping spirit raise 1 



TO 



(61 ) 



TO MISS P. 



Written hy Miss M. when about fifteen* 



OH, with what joy those letters I unfold, 
In which thy mental transcript I behold ; 
Where all the pure exalted feelings shine, 
And genuine gooodness breathes in ev'ry line. 
How few possess a mind like thee, my friend, 
Where sense, simplicity so sweetly blend, 
If e'er benevolence adorn'd a breast, 
If e'er compassion sweetly painful guest, 
Did in a human bosom gently glow, 
Or from the eye in trickling dew drops flow, 
Sure they in Clara's noble heart reside, 
Her to whom I my ev'ry wish confide. 



Soon 



( '62 ) 

Soon must thou leave the wholesome country air, 

And to more polishM courtly scenes repair, 

Where dignified by fashion, folly reigns 

The Goddess worshipp'd in a thousand fanes 3 

Who sees with triumph countless numbers own 

Her bound les sway, and grace her brilliant throne. 

But still may wisdom on thy steps attend, 

An ever watchful monitor and friend ; 

Nor let thy soul immortal and divine, 

Ignobly bend at fashion's gaudy shrine. 

Oh ! persevere in heav'nly Virtue's road, 

And dare t' obey thy Conscience, and thy God ! 

Here, far remov'd from hurry, crowd, and noise^ 

Thy friend a soft tranquillity enjoys ; 

Here, 1 the noble works of genius read, 

And hold sweet converse with th' enlighten'd dead y 

With serious pleasure turn th' historic page, 

And learn th* events of many a backward age, 

How once bright polish'd Greece, with freedom crown'd, 

Was for her skill in arts, in arms renown'd, 

In letters, elegance, unrivalPd shone, 

But now in bondage doom'd, alas, to groan ; 

Her ancient valour, and fine arts too fled, 

Whilst science has withdrawn her laurell'd head. 

For 



(63 ) 

For how should Spartan brav'ry, attic fire. 

The frigid servile breasts of slaves inspire ; 

How mighty Rome, the terror of her foes, 

That great, that world-subduing city rose ; 

And how with plunder crown'd, and slaughter stain'c£ r 

Her glory's proud meridian she attain'd, 

Till from the vain, the dazzling height declin'd, 

At length she falls a lesson to mankind. 

Of sublunary grandeur short's the date, 

Transient the glories of this mortal state. 

Then Poesy in all her charms divine, 

Enchants my soul, in Milton's sacred line, 

Her brightest visions round my faney play, 

On rapture's plumes I soar to heav'nly day. 

Methinks celestial splendors bless my sight. 

And Seraphs shining with refulgent light, 

Or scenes of horror this great bard displays. 

Fill me with pleasing terror, deep amaze, 

When he sublimely paints, how angels fell, 1 

From Heav'n's bright mansions to the depths of Hell. 

But books, nor present friends can drive away 

The thoughts of thee, oh dear remembrance, say, 

Dost thou not oft those pleasing hours retrace, 

When I beheld my friend's benignant face ; 

Heard 



( 64 ) 

Heard her pour forth, without disguise or art* 
Her tender, gen'rous, unpolluted heart ; 
Or sweetly utter those reflexions sage, 
That might have graced the lips of riper age; 
The sweet, the soothing hope I'll entertain, 
That soon these pleasures will be mine again ; 
That my lost friend e're long will bless my sight* 
And crown the passing moments with delight. 



( 65 ) 



No Date to this 

TRANSLATION OF A CELEBRATED 
FRENCH SONNET. 

Of Monsieur des Barreaux. 

IN all thy judgments, mighty God^ 

Impartial justice reigns; 
Yet kind Compassion pleads our cause> 

And mitigates our pains. 

But in thy spotless sight, my crimes 

So heinous must appear, 
That sweet celestial Clemency, 

Would wound thy justice here. 

Yes, I have sinn'd, alas ! beyond 

Thu vast extent of Grace, 
Vindictive majesty prevails, . 

And Mercy hides her face. 

* Fulfil 



(66) 

Fulfil then, Lord, thy just intent, 

Blast this devoted head, 
Indignant view these burning tears, 

Remorse and anguish shed. 

Let thy tremendous justice strike, 

And lay the guilty low ; 
I must in perishing adore, 

The hand which gives the blow. 

For where can thy dread thunder fall r 
Upon what place, great God ! 

That's not by Jesus cover'd o'er, 
With his own precious blood I 



TENUS 



(67 ) 



VENUS AND MINERVA. 

Writ t en at fifteen. 



ONCE in discourse, by Heav'n design'd, 
Fair Venus and Minerva join'd ; 
When lovely Venus thus address'd 
Minerva, whilst her heaving breast, 
Her faltering voice, her gentle air 
Bespoke a mind, oppress'd with care* 
" I often with a sigh lament, 
How seldom you from Heav'n are sent, 
To add the charms of mental grace, 
To those I give of shape, and face. 
Tho' I bestow the finish'd form, 
The features grac'd with ev'ry charm, 
The snow-white skin, the sparkling eye, 
And cheeks that with the roses vie, 



Yet 



( 68 ) 

Yet what is beauty's vain pretence, 
When uninform'd by your good sense ? 
As paintings for a while delight, 
Whose glowing tints transport the sight, 
So brilliant beauty shines like these, 
Nor longer its attractions please. 
But knowledge, dignity of mind, 
The graces of a soul refin'd, 
When thro' the beauteous form they shine, 
Oh, how your gifts embellish mine ! 
Irradiate each expressive grace, 
And animate a pretty face. 
Some few, the happiest of the fair, 
Our matchless charms united share. 
But why to me such shyness shewn, 
And of your gifts so sparing grown ? 
Why will not Pallas prove my friend, 
On all my fav'rite nymphs attend, 
And with my grace, her wisdom blend ? 
Oh do not thus your virtues spare, 
But grant Cytherea's fervent prayer." 
Minerva smiling, quick replied, 
" In vain does lovely Venus chide ; 
Nor censure me, nor righteous Heav'n, 
put thy sweet charms* too freely giv'n. 



} 



T« 



( 69 ) 

To grant unask'd, thy greatest joy, 

But know Minerva is more coy, 

And claims long courtship to bestow 

Those gifts which from her wisdom flow. 

How oft thy charms too prove a snare, 

T'entrap the wild unthinking fair, 

Who flutter in fantastick pride, 

Pleas'd with a perishing outside ; 

Enjoy the present, but forget 

That youth's bright sun e're long will set, 

That age will deaden beauty's charms, 

And strip her of her splendid arms. 

Who seem to think thy gifts suffice, 

While mine are deem'd of little price, 

Thoughtless that mine for ever last, 

While thine as soon as seen, are past. 

Yes they, on thee alone rely, 

And let me slip unheeded by.- 

Say, shall I then thy vot'ries aid, 

Who doom me thus t'oblivion's shade?" 

u True," replied Venus, " but 'tis fair, 

Most blame your darling men should bear ; 

For this I can with justice say, 

The belles deserve less blame than they ; 



Who 



( 70 ) 

Who with smooth flatt'ry's courtier tongue, 

Feed the vanity of old and young, 

And like Eve's serpent glide along. 

Yes, Goddess, 'tis thy fav'rite kind, 

Taint and destroy the fair one's mind, 

There plant each folly, to their shame> 

And then their own productions blame/' 

To which, Minerva thus replies, 

f Were these thy vot'ries truly wise, 

Vain adulation they'd despise, 

Treat with contempt each flait'ring beau, 

And make all empty coxcombs know, 

They sense prefer in simplest vest, 

To folly in embroid'ry drest. 

Oh, would the fair but court my aid, 

Joyful I'd form each blooming maid; 

Teach her to charm beyond an hour, 

When beauty's transitory flow'r 

Is wither'd, its fine colours dead, 

And all its fading honors fled. 

Their gentle bosoms I'd inspire, 

And breathe therein my genuine fire ; 

Instruct them in my heav'nly lore, 

Into their minds each virtue pour, 



} 



} 



Exalt 



( 71 ) 

Exalt their souls, their thoughts refine, 

And cherish Virtue's spark divine. 

At my impartial glass array'd, 

They would not be so oft betray'd 

By treach'rous Pleasure's tempting snares, 

Or Vanity's fantastick airs. 

E'en Flatt'ry's syren voice would prove 

Too weak, th'enlighten'd mind to move, 

All her fallacious arts would fail, 

And be with them of no avail. 

No more they'd shun Truth's piercing light; 

Which then Would seem divinely bright, 

Pleasing, not hateful to their sight. 

Thus of Minerva's aid possest, 

With her immortal graces blest, 

Tho' Time despoil'd each outward charm, 

Wrinkled the brow, and bent the form, 

Stole from the cheek its vermeil dye, 

And robb'd the lustre of the eye ; 

Their minds would sparkle mid the gloom^ 

And with eternal beauties bloom. 



} 



( 72 ) 
An explanatory Note. 

t 

i 

.HAVING finished the Poetry of Mr. and Mrs. Day,* 
I shall here observe, it is my intention to publish about 
one hundred pages of their miscellaneous prose pro- 
ductions, to bind up with the poetry, as the book would 
be ouly 71 pages without it. Nor will I shew their ta- 
lents, or my judgment so much disrespect, to suppose 
any apology necessary for printing some of their mis- 
cellaneous prose. No, this note to the reader is merely- 
mean t as an apology for having varied from the general 
rule of publishing each in separate volumes. It 
is possible I may add some of my verses, as a make- 
weight in the scale, but Mr. and Mrs. Day's mental ef- 
forts, I can never consider in that light. Indeed, 
Mr. Day is so celebrated an author, that I am convinced 
what I have published of his, either prose or verse, will 
not only be no disparagement to his literary fame, but will 
prove highly acceptable to the reader. And I am sure 
those who had the pleasure of being upon terms of in- 
timacy with him will agree, that I have selected such of 
his prose as is peculiarly characteristic of his singular 
turn of minxL 



(73 ) 



THE 

TRIAL OF A. B. 

IN THE 

HIGH COURT OF FASHION* 

For several Crimes and Misdemeanors at sundry times 
committed against the Rights and Privileges of the 
said Court* 

1 HE Court being assembled, (no matter when or 
where) Sir Richard Pickle, Alderman, Beau Spar- 
kle, Lord Mayor, and Alderman Bluster, took their 
places as Judges ; when immediately the following 
Charge was exhibited against the Defendant* 

" THAT he the said Defendant, A. B. had at sundry 

times, been guilty of the highest, and most enormous 

offences against the dignity and majesty of the Court 

$ then 



( 74 > 

then assembled." To verify this, there was produced the 
following articles of accusation, ail of which it was said 
could be indisputably proved, by witnesses of the most 
undoubted veracity : viz. 

** That he the said A. B. had often expressed himself 
in terms of the greatest reproach to, and contempt of 
the said Court." 

ft That he acted in every particular in open defiance 
©f the said Court/' to prove which, the following facts 
were produced : 

tc That in his dress he went remarkably plain/' 

€t That his hair was very seldom curled or powdered/* 

Cl That in the management of his house he was noto- 
riously guilty, keeping no more servants than were just 
necessary, and arbitrarily forbidding, upon pain of dis«- 
mission, the use of curling irons, powder, or pomatum.'* 

" That in his furniture he was so remarkably plain, 
the Plaintiffs verily believe there is not a single bit of 
expensive plate, china, or carved work about his house/' 

" That in his table he shewed such an open defiance 
to the most inviolable laws and ordinances of the Court, 
he would never dine upon any thing but roast-beef, 
plumb-pudding, and such other gross and ungenteel 
food, as all people of fashion have long ago banished 
from their tables/' " That 



( 75 ) 

" That not contented with the above high crimes and 
misdemeanors, and many more too tedious to be now 
enumerated, he had with all possible care instilled 
the same absurd and detestable principles into the 
minds of his children : that to prevent their being bet- 
ter infoimed, he had most sedulously prevented their 
going to any of those public amusements, which are the 
general places of resort for the true friends and dutiful 
subjects of the high and mighty Court here assembled, 
and which would sufficiently appear by the looks of the 
unhappy victims ; seeing that the boys were as robust as 
ploughmen, and the girls, instead of that beautiful sal- 
lowness which distinguishes people of fashion, had 
the unbecoming florid complexion of milk-maids. 
And lastly, not to detain the Couit too long, that he pro- 
hibited the frequent use of tea and wine in his house ; 
that he and all his family by his instigations and per- 
suasions, weie open and avowed enemies to card-play 
ing, dice, operas, drunkenness, horse-races, Italian 
eunuchs, French valets, French cooks, &c. the amuse- 
ments and attendants of people of tiue taste and 
fashion. That in consideration of the above high crimes 
F 2 and 



(76) 

and misdemeanors, by him, and at his instigations com- 
mitted, the humble Petitioners of the Court, C. D, and 
E. begged in the most modest and submissive terms, 
that his estates, real and personal, might be confiscated, 
and then divided among your Petitioners, in some mea- 
sure to indemnify them for the great losses they had 
sustained in the service of the Court '* 

Being asked of what nature those losses were > which they 
complained of ; they urged, 

li That though born to equal or superior fortunes to 
the prisoner then at the bar, they had in less than ten 
years run them out, in drinking, w— — g, horse-racing, 
dice cards, elections, and other fashionable plea* 
sures, as could be proved by witnesses of the greatest 
and mo*t undoubted veracity; 

The Jury then entered and took their places, consisting 
of four dashing Officers of the Guards, a dapper Templar, a 
buck P 'arson ,and six fine Ladies, all properly accoutred ie with 
hoops, rich laces, teles de diable, swords, bags, fyc. 

The prisoner being asked if he had any thing to offer, 
why sentence should not be pronounced against him, 

according 



(77 ) 

according to the heinousness of his crimes and misde» 
meanors, he made the following defence. 

€i HIGHLY sensible of the extraordinary lenity and 
clemency of the honorable Court before which 1 appear ; 
I stand up to make a defence of those actions which 
have been urged against me, as crimes of the deepest 
dye, and of so black a nature as to call forth all the 
thunders of impartial justice. If in explaining the mo- 
tives which have influenced me, the principles upon 
which I have acted, and the ends which I have pursued 
through these seemingly illicit and improper means, I 
should sometimes be compelled to descant with a greater 
freedom and warmth than may be accounted proper, 
upon the laws, statutes, and ordinances of the honorable 
Court before which I am summoned, I hope I shall be 
forgiven, and that my errors will rather be attributed to 
the faults of the judgment, than to any obstinate and 
conscious perversion of the will. 

The crimes of which I am accused, seem to be viola- 
tions of the known and established laws of custom ; now 
with reverence to the Court, I will boldly affirm, 
that these laws are entirely imaginary, never have existed 

r 3 nor 



( 78 ) 

ted, nor will exist, or, if supposed to have any real exr 
istence, could not, from the nature of things, be in any 
degree binding or obligatory. 

To constitute a law, I imagine it is absolutely and in- 
dispensably necessary, that the majority of any nation or 
society should acquiesce. The degrees of offence, and 
punishment must be clearly determined and promul- 
gated, in order that no one through ignorance or error 
may be obnoxious to the vengeance of his country ; this 
is the first principle of Nature and of Liberty ; aught 
contrary to this, is the oppression of tyranny, and thq 
law of slaves." 

Here Sparkle, the Lord Mayor, got up, and with great 
warmth observccj, "that truly he was as great a friend to 
Liberty as any body, but he didn't know what was meant 
by the consent of a majority, or principle of Nature ; 
that for his part he thought Liberty consisted in eating 
turtle, and obedience to the Lord Mayor ; and, by 
G — , gem men, (added he) whoever says otherwise is q, 
rascal." 

His Lordship then brandished his fist with such ener- 
gy, that Alderman Blaster, who stood next him, mors 
attentive to the action than the meaning of the orator, 

thought 



( 79 ) 

thought it best to make a precipitate retreat, and start- 
ing back with surprising velocity, Overturned Sir Richard, 
who, though Knight, Baronet, Alderman, and Salter, was 
forced to measure his length upon the giound, and re- 
ceive the whole weight of his Brother Alderman on his 
belly. 

After the Knight was with great difficulty disengaged 
and reinstated upon his legs, he began to wipe the dust 
from his face, and blubbering, piteously cried out, 

€i Now pox take this Liberty, I'm sure I never gets 
any good by it ; the very name of it always makes me 
tremble like an aspin leaf; I'm sure its full as bad as 
popery, — here now, when I wanted to be a Parliament 
man, the people always used to be flinging things at me, 
and making fun of me, and making verses, as how my 
dearie cuckolds me ; but I doesn't believe any such 
thing ; and if she does, what's that to any body else ?— 
3nd all this, forsooth, upon account of Liberty, — for my 
part I thinks the people are all mad ; what Liberty would 
they have now ? han't we liberty to eat turtle, as 
Brother Sparkle says ? han't we liberty to smoke our 
pipes and go to club ? And you, you great calf, couldn't 
ye see where you went to ? D'ye think I've stuff'd my 

r 4? belly 



( B6) 

belly with so rnucli turtle and custard, only to make a 
cushion for such a lubber as you ?"■ ■ ■■ 

His Lordship now, observing his brethren began to 
grow warm, called out to order, and imposing silence, 
ordered the prisoner to proceed, who went on in this 
manner, 

<e Taking it for granted then that my definition of a 
law is just, I go on to observe, that none of the laws of 
Custom or Fashion, can have the sanction of Nature or 
Liberty, and consequently cannot be obligatory. 

I have long made it my business to find out in what 
particular the votaries of Custom were agreed ; deter- 
mined that my concurrence should attend that of the 
rest of mankind 

Alas, with what difficulty, disgust, and disappointment 
have my researches been attended ! I observed the dress 
of the ladies ; but upon that head the whole &ex is divided, 
and split into Factions ; what one nation calls charming, 
another denominates shocking ; a Tartarian lady would 
make a ridiculous figure in our assemblies with ornaments 
hanging to her nose, and an English lady would be as 
much laughed at inTartary, for wearing them in her ears. 
The Negro ladies wear chains upon their legs, the En- 
glish upon their necks ; and the Caffrenians would 

doubtless 



( 81 ) 

doubtless laugli at our methods of dressing the head, as 
not being sufficiently greased toeat for breakfast, 01 to 
keep out the heat of the sun. Even in the same country 
the fair ones are sub-divided into factions ; a London and 
an Exeter lady are as different, a* a Chinese and an Hot- 
tentot ; and few women are in the same dress two days 
running. 

I consulted the taste of the ladies in other particulars* 
and found the same want of uniformity; some ladies 
think Dutch pugs the sweetest animals in nature, others 
prefer Italian greyhounds, and I have known ladies 
who have thought children prettier play-things than ei- 
ther. 

One lady gives.an hundred pounds for a Pagod,or Chi- 
nese monster; a second calls that expence ridiculous, and 
bestows double the sum upon Tenducci or Gaarducci. 

One lady doses herself with ratafia, by nine ; another 
plays at cards till day-light, and a third instead of these 
delights, prefers the more refined one of walking by 
moonlight with the captain. 

The more material points of life are still less settled 
than these; one dies for a gilt coach, and six nag-tailed 
Jbays ; another ruins her husband by having things decent 

in 



( 82 ) 

in her house; and a third despises both, provided she 
can eat green pease at five guineas a pint. 

I now proceed to remark, that 1 could find very little 
more uniformity in the lives of the male, than in those 
of the female part of the creation. What one extols, 
another condemns ; and if there is any unanimity, it is, 
that every man applauds his own election, and calls the 
rest of the world, fools. 

Let us begin with the army : behold a band of men 
who give up for a paltry stipend, the common rights to 
that universal, and generally esteemed unalienable gift 
of Nature, life: strange that mankind should glory in 
holding their existence by the tenour of another person's 
will ; ready to expose it at the word of command, or to 
wrest it from others, against whom they have not the 
least plea of injury, or the least cause of hatred. 
• A soldier's idea of happiness is to adorn his person to 
what he calls the greatest advantage ; to sit several hours 
in a day drinking a liquor he dislikes,and which brings on 
inevitable though gradual ruin to the constitution, for no 
other end than to produce intoxication, and to excite 
his passions by every possible method, that he may gra- 
tify them, I am sorry to say too frequently at the ex-* 
pence of the most sacred connexions; (the holy mar- 
riage 



( 83 ) 

riage bed, the sanctity of virginity, too often affecting 
him with no other idea, than as furnishing matter for a 
display of his abilities, and a subject of triumph.) Which 
amusements, with dice, cards, billiards, ccc. generally 
fill up his vacant hours till three or four in the morning. 
So much for the soldier. 

Proceed we now to a no less necessary and respectable 
body of people, those of a mercantile profession ; they 
laugh at the finery and empty pockets of the captain ; 
it is sufficient for them that they can afford it, esse, non 
videri ; their idea of the summum bonum is cheating 
their customers all the morning, overeating themselves 
at dinner, and sleeping, or at least dozing all the resc of 
the day. 

• Here a third body offers itself to our view, the gen- 
try ; and in this may be included the nobility ; but to 
comprehend these in a general definition is utterly im- 
possible ; a chaos of heterogeneous atoms, never agree- 
ing, never uniting. 

Their style of living, their manners, their dress, their 

tastes totally different : one drinks, one w s, one 

games, one sings, another fiddles, a second hunts, a third 
dances away his estate. What greater Antipodes in Nature 

than 



(8t ) 

than the country gentleman, and the fine gentleman? 
Yet both are in the right, both despise each other; the 
only difference, one runs out his fortune upon himself, 
the other upon two nobler species of animals, his dog* 
and horses. 

j\] r< ###** se ]] s his country in the lower house ; his 
Orace does the same in the upper ; yet are they agreed ? 
By no means, — the Commoner would be an honest man, 
could he dine upon less than twenty dishes ; and his 
Grace would scorn to ruin his country, did he not keep 
running horses. 

The very harpies of Government, that prey upon the 
bowels of their mangled Country, Contractors, Agents, 
&c. though uniform in the means, are they uniform in 
the ends of their villainy ? Does not the love of power: 
engage one, the love of pleasure or money a second, or 
third ? Even those who appear to be actuated by the 
same passion, and the same inclinations, do they not 
when viewed nearer, resolve themselves into different 
shades of the same colour, never meeting, never 
blending > 

If this is the case, if all mankind, as well as woman^ 
kind disagtce in the most material, as well as the most 

trivial 



( 85 ) 

trivial parts of life ; if to concur with one, I differ from 
all the rest, who shall point out those Customs or Fa- 
shions which I am to subscribe to f 

(i Desipiunt omnes. ........ 

* , . . . Velut Sylvia ubi passim 

Palantes error certo de tramite pellit, 

Ille sinistrorsum, hie dextrorsum abit; unus utrique 

Error sed variis iliudit Partibus 

(Here it was intimated to the prisoner, that it was 
thought a very great degree of impiety to talk Greek 
in a Christian country, and that most of the worthy 
members there assembled, were so far from knowing any 
thing of an heathen language, that few of them under- 
stood their own.) 

" When I saw this, (continued the prisoner) I thought 
it necessary to have recourse to some other principle as 
a guide for life; some principle fixed and unchangeable 
in its own nature, never fluctuating with external ac- 
cidents, nor governed by the opinion of others. That 
principle was Reason ; leaving the multitude to steer 

their 



( S6 ) 

(heir course by the weathercocks of Fashion, and Cus- 
tom, I resolved to pursue the determinations of common 
sense; it was impossible for me to imitate the rest of 
the world, what mattered it whether the world imi- 
tated me. 

I have already demonstrated that it was impossible for 
me to live according to the laws of Custom : I will now 
recapitulate my life, according to the degree in which 
I have swerved from, or kept up to the only principle 
I could adopt. 

In the younger part of my life I was a strict votary 
of temperance ; a healthy old age appeared more than 
an equivalent for abstinence in youth. Even in youth 
what more miserable and detestable object, than a man 
incapable of commanding himself, totally engrossed by 
his own desires ; ever gratifying, yet never satisfied ; lost 
to the nobler purposes of life ; though we set aside here- 
after, common sense will lead us to temperance. In the 
choice of a wife I was neither biassed by birth, nor 
riches; of all the imaginary blessings, which the fol- 
lowers of Ixion embrace for realities, nothing sure is so 
thoroughly ridiculous, as the pretended advantages of 
birth ; in respect to riches, why desire more, when we 

have 



( 87 ) 

have enough ? Every thing beyond a competency as la 
ourselves, is totally imaginary. 

These have been my ideas ; I looked out for a virtuous ' 
woman, I thank the Deity, I have succeeded. Since I 
have been a father my conduct has been uniform. I 
have, as far as possible, prevented my children from 
having any idea of the ridiculous distinctions of dress ; 
why derive pride from the necessities of Nature ? Do 
additional wants confer happiness f Or are we ren- 
dered so by making trifles necessary to our welfare, 
which an hundred accidents may render us incapable of 
obtaining ? If we consult for beauty, it consists irt 
cleanliness and simplicity ; aught beyond is unnatural. 
A fine lady values herself for her jewels and laces, per- 
haps a pig may admire itself when it has rolled 
in the mire ; or a dog in carrion. De gustibus non 
est disputandum. In my table I have been frugal, not 
avaricious ; it has been always plentifully furnished: 
with plain and wholesome meats ; what more does Na- 
ture require ? The glutton, when he has ransacked the 
four elements to give a momentary titillalion to his pa- 
latcj does he enjoy half the pleasure which the tempe- 
rate man finds from satisfying his hunger upon a frugal 
meal r 

"But 



(88 ) 

tl But the temperate man puts on the appearance of 
g!uttony>in compliance with what is called Fashion. For 
what purpose ? Are his companions gluttons? he will tell 
you far otherwise! Why then ransack earth, air, and sea 
for a dinner ? Can any one be so thoroughly absurd as to 
suppose there is any thing agreeable, or beautiful in the 
sight of animals mangled in a thousand different ways, 
animals that at least had life, had sensation in Common 
with us ? Or is there any thing pleasing in the reflexion 
that Nature must be depopulated to furnish out a single 
meal ? 

By the same principle do I judge of expence in furni- 
ture. With what empty pride, and ill-founded vanity 
does the master look round upon his gilded play-things; 
not considering that could they be the source of honor 
or reputation to any body,it must be to the painter or ca- 
binet-maker who invented^ and not to the stupid fool who 
buys them ! Go to such an house, it is to the furniture 
alone you are introduced ; the \vifc,thc children, are mere 
cyphers ; it is the chairs. the plate, the pictures, the glas- 
ses, the hangings, the china that you must admire ; while 
the anxious owner stands by, trembling by turns least 
jou should suffer any of the finery to pass unnoticed, 

or 



( 89) 

or by any unguarded motion of the hands, the head, 
the feet, discompose his tapestry, or mingle his pagods 
with their native dust. 

Another article of my accusation is, moderation in 
respect to servants : if that is a crime I must avow it. — 
I have always thought that servitude was incompatible 
with affection ; therefore I was unwilling to multiply 
the number of my enemies. Besides, what single reason 
can be given why any man should keep even one ser- 
vant more than he can finer employment for? Idleness 
and Virtue are incompatible ; he that keeps servants 
for any thing but work, makes them vicious. Having 
thus enumerated those articles of expence which I have 
avoided as ridiculous and unnecessary, it may be now 
proper to give some account of the manner in which I 
have employed that fortune with which the beneficence 
of Providence has entrusted me. 

Conscious that I was designed to promote the happi- 
ness of my fellow-creatures, as well of myself, I have 
made Chanty my ruling principle ; not that proud and 
ostentatious Charity which delights in founding hospi- 
tals, and endowing colleges, where the never-before 
honored name of (he donor, is blazoned forth to eternity 
in adulative inscriptions: but that placid, unambitious 
g benevolence 



( 90) 

benevolence, which gliding on like a gentle stream, un- 
celebrated and unknown, delights to scatter blessings 
upon mankind in obscurity. — I have employed the vi- 
gorous, I haved cloathed the naked, fed the hungry, and 
relieved the sick : I have never been severe except to 
Vice ; I have promoted the love of decency, the love of 
temperance, and the love of my country ; I have at 
least inspired my children with that enthusiastic love of 
Virtue, with that sacred ardor for the Laws and Liberties 
of their Country, which so eminently distinguished the 
ages of the Greek and Roman republics; they would 
rather die than see it enslaved, and esteem themselves 
happier in a virtuous death, than all the honors with 
which a tyrant delights to grace his minions. 

My daughters glow with the same generous principles, 
as far as is consistent with their sex: they have learned 
that the greatest ornaments to a woman are simplicity, 
modesty, and obedience ; they have indeed never ac- 
quired those noble accomplishments which are founded 
upen the destruction of decency ; they have never fre* 
quented the assemblies of the gay and the idle : they 
have been little used to the company even of their own 
sex, lest like their own sex they should acquire a taste 
for trifles and dissipation, and an hatred for all the 
nobler purposes of existence. 

A LETTER 



( 91 ) 



A L E T T E R, 



TO A FRIEND. 



JL HAVE been much edified by lately reading some 
excellent letters in defence of the Slave Trade. The au- 
thor argues in so clear and masterly a manner, that I 
think no future doubt can be entertained upon the sub- 
ject ; and the foolish Quakers ought to be very much 
ashamed of having opposed so Holy and Christian a 
branch of commerce. Indeed his letters have taught me 
many religious, moral, and political truths, which I did 
not know before ; among the rest is the infallibility of 
our gracious Sovereign and his two Houses of Parlia- 
ment. That they were omnipotent, I have long known; 
but I did not so clearly understand, that after having 
deposed the Church of Rome, they had legally confis- 
cated his infallibility to their own use. 

But as your correspondent has thought so deeply upon 

the subject, I cannot help sending to him the inclosed 

g 2 Proclamation 



(92 ) 

Proclamation of the King of Jucjah in Africa, which was 
lately put into my hands bytt conscientious merchant of 
Liverpool, who seemed to think it might open a new and 
valuable trade for this country, and who has lately be- 
gun some negotiations with overseers and churchwar- 
dens, in order to rid them of their superfluous poor. 
Should Mr. Gilbert's valuable bill pass, he has some 
hopes of having the monopoly of the county work- 
houses. Indeed he was. a little shocked with the free- 
dom and prophaneness of some parts of this royal edict, 
particularly the account of the great serpent's marking 
all the Whites for slavery, by a stroke of his tail. Suclx 
as it is, I send it you as a curiosity, and am, &c. 

RUSTICUS. 



Translation of the Edict of the King of Judah, for 
the Regulation of the Commerce of White Slaves, 

A HE glory of the world, the delight of nature, the 
resplendent image of the great serpent upon earth, the 
master of the river Jakin, whose floods roll over sands 
of gold, the lord of the islands which produce precious 
fruits and weeds of aromatic odour, the sovereign of 

Judaic 



(93 ) 

Judah, the conqueror ofPopo and Ardra, whose soldiers 
are swifter than eagles, fiercer than lions, more in num- 
ber than the ants of the forest, king of all the princes of 
the world, to whom duty, allegiance, and submission 
are due from all the sons of men, thus makes known his 
high and irresistible will to the nations of the earth. 

Whereas it has pleased our royal and irresistible mind, 
pondering over the ineffable and sacred treasure of its 
own counsels, to extend our cares to certain islands in 
the Southern ocean, and to raise up new colonies of 
subjects, to admire our divine intelligence, and obey our 
omnipotent power; and whereas it has been represented 
to our royal wisdom, that these tracts of land, by rea- 
son of their distance from the Sun, the coldness of their 
climate, and other natural disadvantages, are ill-adapted 
to-the reception of our dutiful and loving subjects, who 
pine and sicken at a distance from the resplendent light 
of our countenance; we therefore, the Most High, Most 
Omnipotent, (here follows a repetition of the above pom- 
pous titles) ever anxious to gratify the humble prayers 
of our faithful slaves, and to avert from them every 
danger and difficulty by the shadow of our presence, in 
which the nations of the world move and have their 
£eing, do thus decide : 

g 3 Wherea* 



( 94 ) 

Whereas there is a certain wretched and miserable 
race of men, who come from the remotest corner of the- 
world, over the great waters, seeking the awful shadow 
of our power, and humbly requesting leave to carry back 
such of the productions of our country as are absolutely 
necessary to enable them to support a wretched existence 
in their own, which we, according to the unequalled li- 
berality of our temper, have not hitherto denied; 
and whereas these mongrel vagabonds and pirates, the 
outcast of the world, the disgrace of human nature, have 
in numberless instances abused our royal condescension 
by landing upon our territories, and plundering the in- 
nocent inhabitants, by stirring up continual wars and 
seditions among the different tribes that inhabit our 
coasts, and^then prevailing upon the deluded conquerors 
to part with their prisoners, upon whom we are informed 
they exercise the most atrocious and unheard of cruel- 
ties, separating women from their husbands, children 
from their parents, and violating all the most dear and 
sacred ties of nature ; which miserable victims we are 
also informed they confine in the unwholesome bottoms 
of their great canoes, where thousands of them yearly 
perish by burning fevers, by famine, by pestilence, an4 
by the continual infliction of the most horrid punish^ 

merits, 



( 95 ) 

incnts. while the miserable survivors are destined to la- 
bour in chains, to procure food and other necessaries for 
their idle, ignorant and stupid betrayers: Now, in order 
to give an awful example to all the human race of the 
purity of our justice, and the divine integrity oi our 
councils, we do order and command our faithful slaves, 
that for the future, in whatever port these miscreants 
shall land, they shall directly seize upon all their canoes 
and cargoes, which shall be reserved under pain of 
death, and faithfully accounted for to our Imperial Mi- 
nister of Finance : As to their persons, we do further 
enact, that they shall be pinioned in pairs, stripped of 
all their cloaths, excepting a clout, which we graciously 
indulge them with about their middles, and in this man- 
ner guarded along the country, until they arrive at the 
precincts of our resplendent palace, the wonder of the 
world, the miracle of art, &c &c. 

Were we inclined to punish such atrocious offenders 
according to the extent of their crimes, we should cer- 
tainly order them to pave the way before our royal ele* 
phant, as he marches forth in terrors, or expose them to 
be torn in pieces by the lyons and tygcrs of the forest, 
whom they most resemble in cruelty and rapine ; but re- . 
fleeting upon the natural inferiority of their race, and 
g 4 collecting 



( 96 ) 

collecting from several causes that they are not totally 
incapable of the reasoning faculty, however debased and 
corrupted by want of education, we are graciously pleased 
to order that they shall be instantly transported to our 
colony of New Zeland, there to be employed in raising 
wheat, potatoes, and other vegetables for our royal table, 
and in tending a breed of sheep upon the mountains, 
whose fleeces may supply the Princesses of our Royal 
Seraglio with shawls and petticoats. 

But even in this necessary act of retaliation, such has 
been our love of justice, that we have not taken these 
resolutions without the approbation of our learned col- 
lege of divines, and particularly that of the great and 
illuminated High-priest of the serpent. We therefore 
submitted to his supreme decision, the question how far 
it was consistent with our princely perfections to reduce 
that body of our fellow creatures to utter and irremedia- 
ble servitude. 

That holy man, after invoking the assistance of the 
Great Serpent, and all the numerous family of inferior 
Gods, his descendants, has assured us, that nothing can 
be more just, holy, and acceptable to all the Divinities, 
than this our resolution : the whites, he added, are evi- 
dently intended to serve the blacks, by the marks which 

nature 



( 97 ) 

nature and providence have implanted upon their conn** 
tenance; had they been intended to share the same pri- 
vileges with other men, they would have received that 
sable hue which is the distinguishing characteristic of the 
human race ; or at least they would have given some 
faint trace of this consanguinity, in the yellowness of 
their complexions, like the Moors or Arabs ; but nothing 
can be more evident than that men with pale faces and 
lank hair, were only created to be slaves. 

He has besides assured us, from the most 
authentic records of our holy traditions, that all men 
were in the beginning of one colour, but that the father 
of this impious and pernicious breed having one day irri- 
tated the Great Serpent, by stealing from him a mess of 
consecrated pottage, that father of gods and men, in 
punishment for his impiety, struck him three times 
over the face with his tail, and rendered him and all his 
descendants white. With such a plain and authentic 
testimony of the will of heaven, there can be no doubt 
of the lawfulness, of seizing all the white men in every 
quarter of the globe, and forcing them to labour for our 
pleasure and emolument. 

But in order to prove that our benevolence keeps equal 
pace with our justice, we are willing to do every thing 
for the improvement of this miserable race, which is con- 
sistent. 



( 93 ) 

fiistent with our awful purpose ; we therefore shall give 
directions that they be not compelled to labour more 
than fourteen hours in the day ; and that at stated times, 
during the ample leisure which they will enjoy, they be 
instructed in the tenets of our most holy religion, and 
taught the firsjt general principles of justice and mo- 
rality. 

We are not insensible of the difficulty of such a task, 
since among all those who have visited our shores, 
we have scarcely heard of one that seemed to understand 
the common distinctions of right and wrong. They are 
indeed universally given up to the practice of the most 
degrading vices ; a sordid avarice, which renders them 
incapable of friendship, pity, or any human affection, 
and a beastly intemperance to which thousands are 
yearly victims ; cruelty and cunning seem to form the 
basis of their character ; for while they are continually 
taking advantage of the noble simplicity of the blacks to 
overreach, deceive, and betray them, they are observed 
to nourish the most implacable hatred and jealousy 
against each other ; so that it is conjectured, were they 
not restrained by their mutual fears of our royal power, 
they would soon exterminate each other by unremitting 
war and cruelty. 

But 



(W ) 

Bat though there is too much truth in these represen- 
tations, it is to be hoped that the Great Serpent, when 
he gave them the figure of men, did not totally deny 
them the faculty of reason : and that the habits of cor- 
ruption which they have acquired may at least be par- 
tially corrected by wholesome discipline, unremitting 
labour, spare diet, and seasonable correction with the 
whip. 

By these means our clemency towards these unhappy 
men will appear no less conspicuous than our justice. 
For though some thousands of them may probably perish 
during the passage, others by the pressure of unusual 
labour, or by the deserved chastisement they may incur, 
yet there is no doubt that the happiness of the survivors 
will be so infinitely increased, that they will have rea- 
son to bless the wisdom and clemency of this our royal 
decree; 

There appears indeed one difficulty in the execution 
of these just and salutary regulations, which is the dan- 
ger of our royal intentions being defeated by the want 
of females to continue the breed. But having consulted 
with some of our chosen counsellors, who have been 
compelled to visit the dreary countries which these bar- 
barians inhabit, they have assured us that there can be 

no 



( ICG ) 

do difficulty in opening a trade to any extent for female 
whites. These barbarians, they say, are accustomed to. 
sell every thing ; and are ready to dispose of themselves, 
their wives, or their children, provided they can find 
a purchaser. To this they added, that the idleness, 
licentiousness, and extravagance of many of the female 
sex are such; as to prove intolerable nuisances to all 
who are any way connected with them ; they do not 
therefore doubt, that were a market once assured for 
these commodities, we might be even gratuitously sup- 
plied withany number we could receive. 

We therefore encourage all our loyal subjects' to pro- 
ceed vigorously in their colonial enterprizes, and not to 
be deterred by the fear of a continual supply of whites 
for necessary labour. We intend yearly to send a fleet 
to London, Bristol, and Liverpool, where it is assured 
us we may be furnished with any number of white slaves 
of bi-tli sexes, upon reasonable and moderate terms; for 
such is the sterility of these countries, by reason of their 
distance from the Sun, and such the wickedness of the 
people, that the miserable inhabitants exercise a conti- 
nual rapine upon each oilier for food ; thousands fre- 
quently perish by famine, thousands are reduced to 

beggary, 



( ioi ) 

beggary, and thousands yearly put to death for their 
crimes. Shocking as these representations must appear 
to the delicate and refined humanity of African ears, we 
have every reason to adore the wisdom of the Great 
Serpent, who has made us the instrument of a salutary 
reformation to this unfortunate and degraded race of 
human beings, by teaching them justice and moral du- 
ties, supplying them with necessary food which it fs 
evident they cannot acquire in their own country, and 
introducing them to a knowledge of the sublime and 
holy truths of our religion. 

This imperial mandate is a faithful transcript of our 
high and uncontroulable will, in the regulation of the 
commerce of slaves ; and we have ordered our faithful 
counsellor and scribe Abdallah Hamet, to make known 
to all the nations of the earth, that they may adore our 
wisdom, and prostrate themselves before the imperial 
throne of power, whose splendour reaches even to the 
Heavens, and darkens the glory of the Sun, &.c: &c. &c 



T51E 



( 102 



THE 

TRAIT EUR. 

To the Trail cur. 
SIR, 

J. WAS very much entertained with your character of 
the pretty parson, who may be justly styled the petit 
maitre of religion; whose affected eloquence is as little 
calculated to convey the doctrines of Christianity, as 
his life is to express the manners of its Founder. This 
capital too much abounds with these priggish saints, who 
seem to introduce Lord Chesterfield's graces into the 
Bible, and to send the venerable Evangelists to the dan- 
cing-school. 

But although I perfectly understand your design, and 
saw that you only meant to attack those meretricious 
ornaments, in which human vanity would vainly attire 
the sublimest system of faith and morals which has ever 
been proposed to man, I could not help fearing that 

many 



( 103 ) 

many of your readers might mistake the extent and 
purport of your ridicule. To obviate such misconcep- 
tions, I intend this letter as a species of comment on 
your sixth paper ; and as you havp therewith much 
ingenuity and liveliness, pointed out the affectations 
which disgrace religion, here I shall make some obser- 
vations upon its proper use, and the character which 
becomes its professois. 

Whoever is at all acquainted with the lot of human 
beings, such as they have appeared in every age and 
country, will lament the complicated calamities which 
are too frequently their portion. He will there find 
that no situation is so high as to elude the shafts of for- 
tune, none so low as to escape her fury. The hurricane 
that levels towers and palaces to the ground, overturns 
the cottage, and desolates the harvest in its course ; thus 
does the over-ruling destiny of the species involve the 
great, the mighty, the rulers, and the tyrants of the 
earth, in the common devastation which sw r eeps away 
the mean, the abject, the beggar, and the slave. It is 
not only in the grave, 

a Where e'en the great find rest, 
" And blended sleep th' oppressor and the opprest," 



( 104) 

that their fortunes are similar and equal, but in the short 
and transitory parts which they are previously doomed to 
act. How often has beauty been only an introduction 
to vice and infamy, wealth to utter ruin, youth to di- 
sease, and great abilities to destruction ! how often does' 
virtue itself prove fatal to its possessor, how often does 
it only serve to frighten away his pleasures, interrupt 
his ease, and make him splendidly miserable. If he 
rouses at what appears to him " the great call of na- 
ture," and steps forth to occupy his proper place upon 
the public theatre of the world ; if he attacks with be- 
coming firmness, the great corruptions of government 
and manners, what bands of desperate and inveterate 
mercenaries may he not find leagued' against him ! 
scarcely can religion itself boast a more numerous train 
of martyrs than have been offered up before the shrine 
of civil liberty ; chains and axes, gibbets and wheels, 
dungeons and perpetual prisons, obtrude themselves 
upon his view, where Sidney and Russel fell, where the 
noble de Witts were mangled by their ungrateful coun- 
trymen, and vyhere the generous Patkul was offered up 
a guiltless sacrifice to an obdurate tyrant. If deterred 
by such a bcene of complicated horrors, he takes refuge 
in obscurity, and devotes himself to the silent practice 

" of 



( 105 ) 

of his duty : there indeed he finds less of tumult and 
danger, not always more of happiness. Around him he 
beholds his fellow creatures pining in miseries which 
it is not granted him to remove* In vain does he ex- 
tend his hospitable arms to relieve the indigent, or assist 
the distressed. Sometimes, indeed, he diffuses a mo- 
mentary ray of gladness through the abodes of want 
and wretchedness ; sometimes he may snatch the fallen 
from the fangs of insulting power, or dispel the gloom 
of sickness and of death. But who can remove from 
every individual the particular inconveniences which are 
attached to his respective station ? What scenes of guilt, of 
prostitution, and irremediable distress does every crowded 
capital present ! what thousands that are perishing by 
lingering, painful, and incurable disease ; that are weep- 
ing over the premature death of those upon whom their 
only hopes of subsistence depended ; that are exposed to 
all the inclemencies of the seasons and the pangs of fa- 
mine, that are suffering the bitter fruits of their own 
misconduct, or of the dimes of others. 

This is no exaggerated picture of what really passes 
under the eyes of every one ; it is a faint outline which 
ftffagination will fill up from experience ; and often 

with yet deeper colours of calamity, 

a Who 



( 106 ) 

Who that considers such a scene, with a moment's 
serious reflection, can avoid shuddering at the objects 
which it presents ? Youth, and its momentary intoxica- 
tions, the clamours of riot and festivity, the glare of 
pomp and spectacle, the dreams of love, or the phantoms 
of ambition, may sometimes chase the due sense of our 
weakness, and of the inanity of human pursuits; but it 
will return in the hour of solitude and silence; augment 
the violence of pain and sickness, or hover, like our evil 
genius, around the bed of death. Reason and philosophy 
may intervene with all the pride of eloquence and de- 
clamation ; but the baneful phantom submits not to their 
exorcisms, nor will be fettered by their spells. Some- 
times we are told that we must plunge into transitory 
joy, and make the most of that season which will return 
no more ; 

u Be gay ; too soon the flowers of spring will fade/ 5 *' 
Upon other occasions, we are comforted with the cer- 
tainty of our approaching dissolution, which will at once 
remove our pains and pleasures, our unsubstantial hopes- 
and fears, and all the various miseries e( which flesh is 
heir to." Some philosophers have hoped to silence the 
complaints of misery, by denying ils existence i and by 
lifting men above the condition of mortality, have 

thought 



( 107 ) 

thought to exempt them from its inconveniences.— But 
this, and a thousand other specious subtleties, are but 
the excrescences of human vanity, incapable of removing 
the most trifling of the evils which they pretend to cure. 

" Haeret lateri lethalis arundo :" 
This the celebrated Stoic found when in the attacks of 
a cruel disease, he belied his own Conviction, and pre- 
tended to triumph over pain, by not confessing that he 
felt it; 

From these considerations of human weakness, and 
the inability of reason to extricate us from the labyrinth 
of doubt in which we are involved, it may perhaps, not 
without foundation, be thought, that nature itself has 
disposed our minds to the admission of religious impres- 
sions. Our improvements in many of the sciences, have 
also improved our knowledge in the doctrine of final 
causes. And although ingenious men are too ready to 
push their speculations beyond the bounds of nature and 
experience, yet the admirable mechanism of our bodies 
together with the particular tendency of all our instincts 
and passions, either to our own or the general good, 
must impress even the most obstinate sceptic with asto- 
nishment and reverence. — Can it then be imagined that 
nature, which has evidently intended every particular 
h 2 instinct 



( 108 ) 

instinct she implants for some determinate end, wlircfi 
has allotted the gratification to every passion she inspires, 
should have contradicted herself in this alone ? hunger, 
and thirst, and all the train of bodily feelings, not ex- 
cepting the very sensibility to pain, which is the source 
of so many evils, are evidently intended to force us to that 
continual care and attention, which reason and reflec- 
tion alone could never produce. Anger, by impelling, 
us to exertion, and fear, by removing us from danger, 
produce the same effect; and desire is not only the source 
of our greatest and tenderest pleasures, but is absolutely 
necessary to the continuance of the species. But unless 
we allow that religion, in the general signification of the 
term, enters into the design of nature itself, we must 
helieve that there h a considerable and very important 
part of our constitution entirely useless. The sentiment 
of our own weakness, and of the insufficiency of sublunary 
enjoyments, the restlessness of our minds, even in the 
midst of uninterrupted prosperity, the inefticacy of every- 
topic drawn from reason and philosophy to support us- 
sunder the pressure of misfortune, and that continual 
tendency which every man, even the most confirmed un* 
believer, has frequently experienced to ask for succour 
from some superior licing ; all these, which arc senti=- 

menta. 



( 109 ) 

snents implanted by nature in the human breast, suffi- 
ciently indicate their origin. Should it be objected, 
that the propensity to religious belief is always strongest 
in the most ignorant and uncultivated part of the spe- 
cies, in children, savages, and the vulgar ; it may be 
answered with truth, that so is every other instinctive 
propensity ; and great refinement, however it may in 
many other respects be considered as advantageous, was 
never yet found to augment either our passions or na- 
tural sentiments. 

Shall we then imagine that it is only to deceive our 
expectations and frustrate our wishes, that we are en- 
dowed with a sensibility which is denied to every other 
species of animals ? Are all the noblest faculties of the 
soul, exerted in the noblest manner, the instruments by 
which this fatal cozenage is carried on ? Those who can 
believe so ? must certainly be the most real objects of our 
compassion; since this opinion, whether true or false, 
tears from the human mind its last, its best support ; and 
shows us that in the wide extent of a world abounding 
with evil, we have neither parent, comforter, nor 
friend 

But let us grant for an instant that this universal ten- 
dency of all mankind, is the strongest argument and 

11 3 assurance 



( HO) 

assurance of its truth. What a radiance of hope and 
glory does it cast over our whole horizon ! how imme- 
diately is every doubtful appearance solved, every phe- 
nomenon explained, and every fear surmounted ! What 
a support and triumph to suffering virtue, that beholds 
a refuge of peace and happiness, beyond the stormy sea 
which tosses it below. Surely the idea is such, so vast, 
so elevated, that we may here apply the sublime lan- 
language of a modern poet, without exagg?ration : 

<« Blow, ye winds ! 

48 Ye waves, ye thunders, roll your tempests on ! 

* e Shake ye old pillars of the marble sky, 

" Till all its' orbs, and all its worlds of iiie 

" Bcloosen'd from their seats ! — Yet, still serene, 

" Th* unconquer'd mind looks down upon the wreck ; 

<c And even stronger as the storms advance, 

" Firm through the closing ruin holds his way 

€C Where nature calls him to the destin'd goal !" 

Akenside. 

X. Y. 



TO 



( in ) 



TO THE 

Printer of the Public Advertiser. 

But never sent to that paper, or published till nozi\ 

J. THINK it one of the peculiar blessings of the present 
age, that the fair sex have so far emancipated themselves 
from former restraints, as boldly to indulge their genius 
in the career of literature. How far these fair adven- 
turers may enlarge the limits of science, I will not pre- 
tend to decide; but I hope to see the period, and e\en 
flatter myself that period is at no great distance, when 
there shall not be a town in England, and scarcely a 
private family without its authoress. The infinite ad- 
vantages this will produce to the morals, the taste, and 
happiness of the world, are too evident to need enume- 
ration. Every mother will then be enabled to instruct 
her children, and form their tender minds to a love of 
glory, by favouring them with a perusal of her own 

works 



( "2) 

works; and every blooming virgin will enchant her 
lover, not by tender looks, or gracious smiles, or the 
common arts by which affections are subdued, but by 
giving him an order to her printer ; 

SIR, 

Please to let Henry Languish, E*q. have 
on demand five copies of my Essay upon the National 
Debt; as also sixteen of my Critical Observations on the 
various readings of the Pentateuch, 

from. Sir, your's, &c. 

Arabella Tender. 

It is not easy to describe the complicated emotions 
which must arise in a lover's breast, when he is thus at 
once overpowered by tenderness and learning ; but sure- 
ly he will never attempt to break those chains which Ve- 
nus and Minerva both conspire to weave. Perhaps it 
may be feared that the time consumed in preparatory 
studies, laborious researches, turning over lexicons, dic- 
tionaries, and philosophical .abridgments, may be some- 
thrng unfavorable to the exercise of those domestic du- 
ties and employments, which have hitherto been the 
province of the fair sex. Perhaps it may be imagined 
that, the conspicuous point of view in which every 

author 



( 113 ) 

author is exposed to the public, since every author is 
only a person who undertakes the employment of amus- 
ii?g or instructing the rest of the world, may interfere 
with that interesting delicacy, that amiable tenderness, 
that irresistible softness, which constitutes, or rather 
did constitute so essential a part of the female character. 
But I apprehend the last of these objections will appear 
very trifling, when it is considered, that it is the great 
business of all female education at present, to render it 
utterly impossible that a lady should ever be embar- 
rassed with these sensations ; a polite education may be 
considered as a species of inoculation, which effectually 
prevents the fair patient from feeling any subsequent at- 
tack of shame or timidity during the rest of her life ; so, 
in reality, after having proceeded thus far, it is nothing 
but prejudice which can leave us any remaining scruples 
upon the subject. 

The modest look, the castigated grace, 
The gentle movement, and slow measui'd pace, 
For which her lovers died, her parents pray'd, 
Are indecorums in the modern maid. 
Why then should we be more shocked at hearing a 
lady talk loud, or decide dogmatically in the midst of 
a crowd of philosophers, than in a circle cf petit-maitres^ 

at 



( 114 ) 

at seeing her exhibit her mind in a dissertation, than her 
person in an allemande ; or knowing she was surrounded 
by a concourse of men,instead of being closetted withMons. 
Le Fleur, Perruquier aux dames, just arrived from Pa- 
ris ? I apprehend that a lady is neither a more public,nor 
a more disagreeable exhibition when she is reading her 
tragedy, or like the bards of antiquity, reciting her own 
-verses from house to house, than when she is singing 
sentimental airs to a numerous company, such as ' if 'tis 
joy to wound a lover, how much more to give him ease, 
&c/ or exposing herself to a select party of some five or 
six hundred upon a private theatre ; both which fashions 
the supreme tribunal has decided to be perfectly con- 
sistent with modern decency. As to the other objection, 
derived from its interfering with those employments, 
which custom has invariably allotted the female sex, and 
which must be executed by somebody, it is very easily 
removed by transfering these emplo}?ments to the men, 
for whom in reality they were I believe designed. For 
if we may guess at the intentions of nature, by the dis- 
positions she has implanted, I should imagine that we 
have hitherto made a gross mistake in casting the parts 
of the two sexes. When I see little Miss just emanci- 
pated from boarding-school, rejoice in reining the ma- 
naged 



( 115 ) 

raged steeds, or clearing the five barred gate, or animat- 
ing her coursers amidst a cloud of Olympic dust, or 
throwing off the dress as well as manners of her sex, by- 
strutting about as an Amazon, and rivalling the un- 
fledged ensign both in the length of her strides, and the 
fierceness of her air, can 1 conclude that this dear pretty 
creature was ever intended for a woman ? 

Such was her face, as in a blooming maid, 
The image of a lovely boy ccnyey'd. 

When on the contrary I behold in men the distinguish- 
in * characteristics of the other sex, si3ch as a love of 
trifles, an attention continually employed upon their 
persons, an uncommon garrulity, an aversion to every 
manly employment or exertion, can I help lamenting 
that society is robbed of so many useful sempstresses, 
milliners, and fine ladies ? — But by the emendation I 
have proposed, that peace will be restored to society, 
which is now effectually interrupted, by both sexes de- 
serting their accustomed duties. Can there be a more 
ed'fying spectacle conceived, than that of a husband, 
performing all the duties of a good housewife, instruct- 
ing the cook in the discharge of her culinary functions, 
weighing out the ingredients of a minced pie, or darn- 
ing 



( 116) 

ing the stockings of the family ? When little Master is 
to be dry-nursed, or little Miss has fouled her petticoat, 
should the servant by mistake apply to his mistress, she 
will answer, like the great Corneille, why do you tiou- 
ble me with these things, you know I never interfere in 
family matters ? If on the contrary, a new coach-horse 
should be required in the stable, or the steward want 
to settle his accounts, or the postillion come to complain 
of the indecent behaviour of Mrs. Betty, who entertains 
designs against his vartue, the master will refer them 
to the study, where his beautiful consort gives audience 
in dishabille. Nothing can certainly be more prejudi- 
cial to society, than to have the different orders which 
compose it, discontented with their appointed stations, 
and desirous of innovation. This is certainly the case 
at present ; the men envy the women that indolence 
and frivolity, and coquetry which used to be their pre- 
rogatives ; and the women are no less discontented at 
being subject to a single restraint of one sex, or deprived 
of a single indulgence of the other. This fact is evinced 
by all ihe fashions and changes which the female sex 
have adopted during the last twenty years, these being 
no more than so many approaches to the licentiousness 
of manhood; but stili more so by the writings with which 

they 



( 117) 

they have favoured the world. These writings, whether 
novels, poetry, or any other equally valuable species of 
composition, are almost rilled with asserting the rights of 
the sex, which consist in their having a right to neglect 
all the duties and decorums of their sex, and to assume 
all the preposterous customs and effrontery which dis- 
grace our's. If we are favoured with a dramatic piece 
from a fair hand, we are sure to be informed of the infinite 
contempt she entertains for study, knowledge, or severe 
attentions, without which we know it is impossible for a. 
man to succeed ; as well as to hear the tyranny of the men 
arraigned,who would rather have their wives manage their 
families than write plays* If it be a novel, we are sure 
to find the heroine of the piece has a most supreme con- 
tempt for retired domestic life, to which nine tenths of 
the species are unavoidably destined, is too exalted to 
make a pudding, although she be a farmer's daughter, 
and too wise to be governed by any decorum which cus- 
tom has established for her sex ; but she either elopes, 
or makes an excursion, or writes a tragedy ; and whether 
eloping, expatiating, or writing, is always charming, 
dear, elegant, adorable, and admirable. But when once 
the reformation I propose is thoroughly established, I 
kope to see both sexes contentedly submit to their ap- 
pointed 



( ns ) 

pointed duties; The men will rejoice, in being delivered 
from the noise, and bustle, and business of the world, 
which are too much for the fineness of their nerves, and 
the delicacy of their constitutions ; and the women, at 
possessing those unlimited powers and prerogatives 
to which they have been so long aspiring. To prevent 
future revolutions, I hope they will then regulate the 
education of both sexes in such a manner, as may effec- 
tually produce habits consistent with the respective du- 
ties they are to discharge. Let the ladies be confident, 
dissipated, expensive, if they please; let them spend 
their lives in public, and their fortunes at the gaming 
table, let them boast of their too successful triumphs 
over our unfortunate sex, and be jockies, libertines, or 
authors; but let the men be taught modesty, frugality, 
a love of retirement, and the faculty of blushing ; let them 
above all other things be debarred from pen and ink, and 
convinced that it is totally inconsistent with male softness 
and delicacy, to emerge from virtuous obscurity, to ne- 
glect the silent but important duties of his sex and fa- 
mily, to fill up the columns of a newspaper, and become 
either the wonder or ridicule of the town.- 

CLERIMONT. 

A LETTER. 



( H9 ) 



A LETTER, 



TO A FRIEND. 



W HEN an author of acknowledged merit attacks, witri 
all the virulence of satire, the memory of a writer equal- 
ly celebrated for superiority of genius and of virtue, he 
seems to throw down a public gauntlet of defiance, 
which every one may take up who feels within himself a 
sufficient spirit to meet so formidable a foe. 

I shall therefore make no apology for the following 
examination of Mr* Hayley's Censures of Swift, in his 
late Poem of the Triumphs of Temper. He is a writer of 
so much real merit and elegance, that none of his opinions- 
can be considered as indifferent, either to the public 
taste ; or public morals. Much greater then is the dan- 
ger 



( 120 ) 

ger, when the beauty of his numbers, and the authority 
of his name, give weight to popular prejudices, and arm 
the superficial taste and affected delicacy of the present 
age, with the sanction of principle and benevolence. 

The envy of rival wits, is so stale and acknowledged 
a fact, that few will feel themselves inclined to controvert 
its general authority, although they may deny the parti- 
cular application. However liberal and ingenious, 
therefore, I may suppose Mr. Hayley's private temper, 
I cannot help imagining, that part of his enmity to Swift, 
may arise fro'm a contrariety of genius, which often in- 
sensibly warps us from our natural bias, and invests pri- 
vate interest, and private vanity, with all the dignity of 
principle and public spirit* The field of literature is indeed 
so wide, that authors of tiie most various and contrary ta- 
lents,have sufficient room to expatia.e, without the danger 
ofencroachihgupon each other in their career; yet seldom 
do we see these literary competitors, contented with ap- 
proaching the goal, without endeavouring to overturn a 
lival in the way. Thus Pope in the midst of the gloiy 
which the early efforts of his genius had justly acquired 
him, thought it necessary to depreciate Philip's Pastorals 
in order to exalt his own - 9 and thus the restorers of the 
modern witty comedy, seem discontented with their 

dese:ved 



( nt ) 

deserved applause, unless they can hold up the serious 
Muse to ridicule and contempt. 

In the task of instructing and improving mankind, 
there seems to have always been two great divisions, un- 
der one or other of which, the moral writers of 
every age have been contented to be ranged. The first 
class comprehends men of polished minds and delicate 
taste, who, with little enthusiasm for virtue, or abhor- 
rence of vice, are contented to direct the poignancy of 
their wit, at foibles and defects, which contradict the 
reigning taste and manners : or should they attack a 
fashionable vice, it is with so much gentleness, with such 
a parade of candour, with such an affectation of polite- 
ness, that you see plainly, the least of the author's cares 
is to serve the cause in which he is engaged ; and that 
like stage combatants, in the midst of the fight, he is 
more intent upon the balancing of his plume, the flow of 
his robe, and the decorum of his attitude, than zealous 
to annoy his adversary. Such men are the coquettes of 
literature ; as these, with little real feeling, find it neces- 
sary to affect sensibility, so those with little interest for 
the public welfare, or solicitude about public morals, 
imagine it expedient to pretend to both ; but with all 
the airs and! graces which they assume, you see the little 
i interests, 



( vm y 

interests of their own canity ever uppermost in tftei? 
thoughts, and prevailing over every other consideration* 
I have also heard these gentlemen compared to Masters 
of the ceremonies at public places, who flatter the 
company, in hopes of a benefit, bow and cringe to Vice, 
Meanness,, and Effrontery, in the man of rank, fortune* 
or fashion, but who would turn Virtue herself out of the 
room, should she appear (here in an unfashionable dress. 
The second class-of moralists, contains men of strong 
minds, and indignant tempers, who find it impossible to 
practise condescensions, which would degrade them in 
their own eyes, or to keep measures with what excites 
their abhorrence. Struck with the wide deviations of 
the human species from every standard of rectitude and 
religion, they think it more honourable to oppose the 
torrent, than to glide with security upon its surface, 
conscious that genius is not given to apologize for error ? 
or courage to defend the cause of general depravity, they 
scorn to prostitute either, for the temporary smile of pub- 
lic admiration : or if they are not exempt from the uni- 
versal passion, it is in them a generous feeling which 
grasps at posterity, and appeals to the wise and good of 
every country. Such I imagine v\as Luther in religion, 
Brutus and Hambdcn in politic?, J u\enal and Swift in- 
morals* I do 



( 123 ) 

I do not mean to insinuate, that tfie author of the 
Triumphs of Temper, belongs to the first class I have 
described ; although I should have been much more in- 
clined to place him there, had I seen nothing of his 
composition, but this Poem. Yet I think this Poem, and 
every similar one, however elegant in composition, much 
less calculated to promote the cause of virtue, than 
the very piece it so forcibly arraigns. I will endeavour 
to state my reasons for such an assertion, by an exami- 
nation of the Poem, which is professedly written with 
amoral design ; and in this, my admiration of the Poet's 
genius will not restrain me from freely proposing my 
objections ; conscious that, as I am the last of critics to 
be feared, so he is the last of authors to be afraid of 
criticism. 

The moral of the Poem is, in the writer's own words, 
" Virtue's an ingot of Peruvian gold, 
Ser.se the bright ore, Potosi's mines unfold ; 
But temper's image must their use create, 
And give these precious metals sterling weight. " 
I should be very happy, were I inclined to depreciate the 
extraordinary poetical talents which appear in every 
page of this work, to begin my criticism, with what I 
think four of the worst lines in the Poem. Virtue is 
I 2 an 



( 124 > 

an ingot of Peruvian gold, Sense the silver ore of Poton £ , 
the thought is sufficiently common, and the lines flat : 

" But temper's image must their use create." 
This is neither true of gold, or of sense and virtue : the 
one will, in every state, retain its intrinsic value, al- 
though imprest with no image at all ; and the other may 
produce the greatest utility to mankind, when uncon- 
nected with good temper* 

" And give those precious metals sterling weight/' 
It surely is not the impression of Caesar, or any thing 
else, which can give to metals, either sterling or any 
other weight ; but my aim is not verbal criticisms, and 
I proceed to consider the general conduct and design of 
the Poem; 

The heroine of the piece is a young lady adorned with 
beauty, health, cheerfulness, and vivacity; she is placed 
under the care of a fond and tender parent, enjoying all 
the conveniencies, elegancies, and luxuries which afflu- 
ence can bestow. In these circumstances one would 
imagine that there were few exertions of extraordinary 
good temper required, few lessons of patience to be ex- 
hibited for common use, or examples to be collected of 
bearing what it is the inevitable lot of the gi eater part 
of the species to suffer. It is not hence that the innu- 
merable individuals of the female sex, who are doomed 

to. 



( 125 ) 

to obscure wretchedness, to unceasing toil, to all the 
drudgery of oppressive poverty, or to groan under the 
brutality, or neglect of cruel or indifferent husbands, must 
derive either instruction or relief. Yet it is to them 
one should imagine that a professed moralist, and votary 
of the female sex should address himself, if he wished to 
be of any real utility. The few that can possibly be 
comprehended under the above description, are exposed 
to no trials of temper, which deserve the care of the mo- 
ralist; and if they are wayward, capricious, and dis« 
contented even in die midst of ease and enjoyment, not 
all, the charms of Mr. Ilayley's poetry will, I fear, effect 
a cure. 

u In gay content a sportive life she led, 
The child of Modesty, by Virtue bred ; 
Her light companions Innocence and Ease : 
Her hope was pleasure, and her wish to please. 
For this to Fashion early rites she paid : 
For this to Venus secret vows she made ; 
Nor held it sin to casta private glance 
O'er the dear pages of a new romance/' 
These lines are elegant and easy ; but I "will venture 
to say, there is no merit implied in any but the second, 
which is not found in almost every young lady of fashion, 

i 2 that 



( 12G ) 

that is not taught in every boarding-school, and still 

more deeply impressed by every public place in London. 

In an age when dissipation, extravagance, and the lov<$ 

of fashionable pleasures have expelled every domestic 

virtue from the female heart, is it necessary that poetry 

and morality should fan the flame, like two venerable 

procuresses in the habits of a cloyster ? Let us translate 

these lines into plain prose : — Pleasure employed the 

young lady's hopes* and her greatest wish was to please ; 

for this purpose she paid early rites to Fash ion, and made 

secret vows to Venus; and often employed herself in 

reading Romances. I own I do not see any thing in this 

character to tempt either 

" God to aid, or angels to descend ;" 

any thing which should make it be hung up as a sacred 

tablet for public imitation ; unless perhaps, the author 

may imagine that the ladies are not sufficiently inclined 

to dress^coquetry^fashion, and reading Romances already. 

€t The modern anecdote was next convey 'd 

Beneath her pillow, by her faithful maid." 

There is an insinuation in these lines, which however 

common the practice may be, does no great honor to 

the character of the lady ; as it implies fraud, and that 

improper confidence in servants which is alike contrary 

to 



( 1-27 ') 

to good education and decorum of manners. I have 
heard it observed, that as statues which are to be placed 
on lofty columns, are made to exceed the proportions 
of human bodies, that their effect may not be lost, so in 
moral writings which are put into the hands of youth, 
-virtues ought to be delineated which exceed the efforts 
of common life. Lord Bolingbroke himself very candid- 
ly makes this apology for the seeming severity of some of 
the precepts of the Christian religion. Men, he ob- 
serves, are always apt to relax in their endeavours, and 
whatever may be the model of their imitation, will al- 
ways fall short of that perfection which they propose. 
How necessary therefore is it to propose such examples 
as may employ all the faculties, and fill up the whole 
mind ; how necessary to elevate human weakness with 
the sense of superior excellence, and make it reach the 
utmost bounds of possibility, while it is straining after a 
phantom of ideal perfection ! Let the moral painter, 
therefore, who proposes patterns of imitation, endeavour 
to awaken all the energy of his own genius ; let his eye, 
u roving in a fine phrenzy" over the intellectual world, 
select every thing which is the most beautiful, and most 
capable of exciting an holy enthusiasm ; let him, if the 
present age will not supply fit models for his art, exhaust 
trhe treasures of antiquity, and propose those pure and 

i 4 simple 



( 128) 

simple graces, which are now banished from the world ; 
there is no danger that he should succeed too well, or 
lift his pupils too much beyond the limits of human im- 
perfection ; the world, with all its cares and pleasures, 
its low interests and vanities, will continually intervene, 
and stop them in their flight. Possunt quia posse xidentvr> 
is an axiom that will hold invariably true in morals ; he 
that makes mankind believe they are capable of great 
effects, produces them ; while the necessary consequence 
of taking even the imaginaiy patterns of conduct rather 
from what is, than from what ought to be, is to contract 
the bounds of human perfection, and make every return 
to virtue, once exploded, totally impiacticable. The 
moralist therefore that contents himself with describing 
common virtues, can never hope to produce any thing 
more than common characters. 



( 129 ) 



The subsequent pages of prose contain some of Mrs. Days 
select productions, all of which, like her poetry, were written 
in the days of her youth, before she had attained her 
seventeenth year. 



1 HE first page of Mrs. Day's prose will commence 
with a sensible elegant letter, written in 1767 to a quondam 
school fellow of herY; about which time I believe Miss 
Milnes left Queen-Square School, and was between fifteen 
and sixteen years of age. Her other prose productions, 
that I shall now publish,) were written in the two follow- 
ing years, except the themes, which, though there is no 
date to them, I should imagine were school performances, 
as themes and school exercises are synonimous terms. 
I have selected these as appearing to me peculiarly well 
written. However, Mrs. Day might possibly write them 
after she left school, pour passer le terns, as she seldom 
took up the needle for her amusement, and when she did, 
used it as awkwardly as Hercules handled the distaff; 
for her taste in that respect was not feminine, though her, 
general disposition and manners were. 



( 130) 

I hope the candid reader will consider, if I appear to 
have formed too high an idea of Mrs. Day's mental 
effusions, we see through different mediums, and that this 
perhaps occasions the great difference of our sentiments. 
Being Mrs. Day's nephew, I must acknowledge I feel pecu- 
liarly interested in every thing which concerns her literary 
reputation ; hut independent of that motive, gratitude, 
one of the noblest principles of human nature, has proba- 
bly made me magnify her superior virtues and talents. 
Nor is it to be wondered at, for my mother, her sis:er, 
dying in my infancy, she supplied her place, and always 
acted towards me with the most kind maternal soli- 
citude, which conduct has left such a grateful impression 
on my mind, as I hope will never be erased, and has 
perhaps on the present occasion, displayed itself in ra- 
ther too exuberant an admiration. 



{ 131 ) 



A LETTE It, 



TO A TR1EN1>, 



December 17 6j. 
IT gives me an unfeigned pleasure to find by theconver- 
vcrsation I yesterday had with my dear Caroline, that 
she entertains such just sentiments of the world she is 
going to enter upon. Believe me, my dearest friend, by 
calmly considering beforehand the dangers to which 
you may be exposed in your future situation, you will be 
better able to resist the allurements of pleasure, and the 
too prevailing force of bad example. But you tell me 
you mistrust yourself, you know not what changes may 
be wrought in you by the influence of others. I assure 
you, this amiable diffidence promises much more than 
the confidence of those who (relying solely upon their 
own strength) think themselves proof against every thing. 
It has been frequently remarked, that such presumptions 

beings 



( 132 ) 

facings liave from fatal experience, received the most 
convincing proofs of the weakness of human excellence. 
Indeed a proud, arrogant frame of mind, is what both 
Cod and man take delight in humbling, whereas a just 
sense of our own imperfections, a genuine humility of 
heart, with a steady reliance upon that power on which 
the universe rests, must recommend us to His favour, 
who alone can prove a never-failing Protector. There- 
fore, my Caroline, be not dejected, now you are 
going to embark on life's tempestuous ocean, but take 
reason for your pilot; and as Heaven has blest you with 
a sufficient share of understanding to be capable of mak- 
ing proper distinctions, I hope your -own good sense will 
enable you to avoid the rocks on which too many inconsi- 
derate beings have been wrecked. I think pleasure seems 
one of the greatest enemies which youth has to encoun- 
ter: what numbers are led away by her enchanting in- 
fluence ! Indeed I reflect with the greatest compassion 
upon her deluded votaries, whose lives are one continual 
whirl of dissipation. - Though novelty may at first give 
a poignancy to those amusements which they incessantly 
pursue, frequent repetition must at length blunt their 
relish for them, and create lassitude and disgust ; but 
having no taste for entertainments of a superior kind, 

and 



( 133 ) 

and being chained as it were, by the force of habit to* 
this round of folly, they continue daily to trace the same 
fantastick circle of diversions, without knowing one real 
enjoyment. To take innocent pleasure in moderation, is 
far from being blameable ; for relaxation is necessary t» 
unbend the mind and enable us to return to the du- 
ties and serious occupations of life with fresh vigour and 
alacrity. Recreation is to the mind, what sleep is t» 
the body ; in a proper degree it strengthens and refreshes-; 
in excess, it weakens and enervates. There is no neces- 
sity that in order to be virtuous we should be gloomy, 
unsociable beings, averse to every species of enjoyment* 
Religion, my Caroline, never appears so amiable as when 
it wears the smile of complacency, and cheerfully par- 
takes of those blessings which the beneficent hand of 
Piovidence so liberally bestows. 

For God is paid when man receives, 
T' enjoy, is to obey. 
When piety is sullen and severe, she makes but few con>- 
verts ; her aspect is too forbidding to tempt others to 
become her votaries ; but they who adorn sanctity of 
manners with sweetness of disposition, and that genuine 
good humour which is the result of inward joy and .so 
xenity, these exhibit religion in the most engaging point 



( 1214 ) 

of view, and display the very beauty of holiness. They 
are (as Mr. Addison finely observes in one of his inimi-* 
table Essays) like those spies sent to Canaan, who 
brought the most tempting fruits to invite their compa- 
nions into the happy land which produced them. May 
your piety, my friend, ever be of the smiling kind, an 
amiable rational principle, founded upon love and gra- 
titude to the most lovely and benignant of Beings ! Su- 
perstition, I believe, results from a gloomy dread of the 
Deity, without that pure, sincere affection which his 
goodness demands. The superstitious form erroneous 
notions of the Deity: they regard him in a stern, morose 
light, as prone to punish the smallest transgressions in 
his creatures, and disgusted with their most innocent 
enjoyments ; though the benignity and complacency of 
the Supreme Being,are every where, throughout the wide 
volume of creation, written in the most conspicuous cha- 
racters, In the ch earful scenes of nature, every beau- 
tiful smiling object that presents itself to me, seems to 
say in the most eloquent language, " thou zcert cre- 
ated to be happy " There is something infinitely pleasing 
in the reflection that the various beauties with which God 
has adorned this terrestrial spheie, were solely intended 
to contribute to our delight and satisfaction. With 

what 



( 135 ) 

what heart-felt pleasure and gratitude to the bounteous 
bestower of all, should we reflect, my Caroline, that we 
may either of us say with the rest of mankind, 
* For me kind nature wakes her genial pow'r, 
Suckles each herb, and spreads out ev'ry flow'r/ 
Though the lines I have just now quoted were meant 
(by Mr. Pope) to express the pride of man, yet I cannot 
help thinking, if we make such reflections from a sense 
of gratitude to the Divine Being, they are highly con- 
formable both to Reason and Religion. 

I hope, my dear Caroline, you will never be so much 
the fashionable lady, as to lose your relish for the genuine 
beauties of nature, but will ever think the admirable 
works of Providence preferable to all the splendor and 
magnificence of the gay world. Some knowledge of 
natural philosophy adds greatly to the entertainment 
and instruction which the contemplation of nature af- 
fords, What can be more delightful to a rational mind, 
than to be acquainted with the wonderful mechanism of 
this well-ordered universe, to learn the laws by which 
it is governed, and how all the various parts conduce to 
form one great, harmonious whole ? We find marks of 
divine wisdom evidently impressed even on the most com- 
mon and minute objects : not a plant that grows, a 

flower 



( 136) 

flower that blooms, or an insect that flies or creeps, but 
contains in itself innumerable wonders. Can we then 
enough admire that Being who is the Author of such a 
rich variety of astonishing productions ? This subject 
reminds me of a book which I would recommend 
to your perusal, Nature Delineated: it is indeed 
a very elegant philosophical work. I am sure, my 
Caroline, you will always devote some time to read- 
ing, as there is nothing contributes more to enlarge the 
understanding, and ennoble the sentiments, than fine 
instructive writers. What an inexhaustible source of 
entertainment and instruction we derive from books ! 
how agreeably they fill up the vacant hours of life, and 
furnish the mind with such various stores of knowledge, 
as may enable it to find an ample fund of amusement 
within itself! They afford consolation in adversity, and 
teach us to support prosperity in a becoming manner. 
They enliven solitude, and qualify us to grace society; 
You honor me so far as to consult me on your choice of 
books, but I wish you would apply to a more competent 
judge. Of the books that I have read, I know of none 
which have so great a tendency to tincture the mind 
with general knowledge, as the Spectators. JMr. Addison's 
Essays are indeed, both in respect to matter and style, 

inimitable* 



( 137 ) 

inimitable. In the humourous he is admirable; there 
is a most elegant vein of pleasantry runs through that 
part of his writings, and his incomparable strokes 
of satire are so tempered with candour and humanity, 
that you may plainly see the writer lashes folly only to 
correct it, not (as others have done) to gratify his 
spleen or malice. His more serious papers abound with 
sublime sentiments, and judicious reflections. Plato 
said, that if Virtue appeared in a visible form, all men 
would be enamoured of her beauties; and I am sure 
Mr.Addison paints her in such beautiful colours, that one 
cannot help being in love with his picture of her. The 
style of this charming author is peculiarly pleasing and 
unaffected, he also expresses himself with that genuine ele- 
gance which is founded upon simplicity : and there is such 
an easy flow apparent in his compositions, that they do 
not seem to be the result of much labour or study. 
I hope, my charming friend, Mrs. **** will not 
for the future depress the encreasing powers of 
your mind, by refusing you, as she has too often 
injudiciously done, your just share of applause. 
Encouragement, properly bestowed, animates the ju- 
venile understanding, and inspirits it to persevere in 
the acquisition of wisdom and knowledge : for want of its 
enlivening influence, very fine talents have been, I fear, 
nipped in the bud, and native genius so far chilled as to 
k incapacitate 



( 133 ) 

incapacitate those, from ever appearing in life with any 
degree of lustre, who might otherwise have made a very 
brilliant figure in it. But you must not permit your- 
self, my Caroline, to be discouraged from the pursuit of 
any thing excellent aud laudable: entertain a just sense 
of your own merits, and do not suffer them to lie buried 
through that excess of diffidence and timidity, which is 
an amiable weakness you are apt to fall into. There is, 
I am sensible, a certain graceful modesty, which is the 
brightest charm in the female character, and reflects a 
lustre upon every other virtue and accomplishment ; but 
it should not be carried to such an extreme as to ob- 
scure your excellencies, for then it becomes self-injustice* 
How singularly happy do I esteem myself in the friend- 
ship of my Caroline, whose very errors (I may without 
flattery say) proceed from virtues in excess. Such a 
friendship as our's, founded on disinterested principles, 
formed too in that season of life, v. hen the heart is most 
susceptible of strong and tender attachments, has surely 
the best chance for duration. And that our connec- 
tion may be a lasting one, is my fervent wish ! May we 
have reason continually to say after long experience 
of each other, that we have met with that inestimable 
blessing, which numbers have vainly sought for, a 
real Friend. Oh, may 1 prove myself, 

Ever ycur's, with the sincerest affection, 

E. MILNE& 



( 139 ) 



A LETTER 



3 



TO THE SAME. 



AS my dear Caroline's departure approaches, I in- 
dulge myself as often as possible in the pleasure, which 
writing to her always affords me. Though, my amiable 
friend, we must soon part, perhaps for ever, yet I flatter 
myself you will not forget me, but will sometimes bestow 
a thought upon one, who is so sincerely attached to you. 
If my most fervent wishes could avail )ou, you would 
enjoy all the happiness of which this imperfect sta'e 
is productive. But a mind such as your's at present is, 
toy Caroline, can never be really miserable. Virtue, 
that sacred source of the purest enjoyments will, I 
doubt not, always diffuse a certain peace and serenity 
through your breast, (to use the words of one of our 
most elegant and moral poets,) 

'* What nothing *:irthly gives or can destroy, 
The souls calm sun- shine, and the heart-felt joy." 

k <2 The 



( *40 ) 

The consciousness of rectitude is indeed the svveetes; 
balm, the most effectual comforter, in all those distresses 
to which the virtuous are liable : if injured or oppressed 
by the shafts of malice, the sense of our own innocence 
will always in some measure disarm malice of its sting : 
if overwhelmed with misfortunes, which no human fore- 
sight could prevent, conscious goodness is still the no- 
blest, nay, only true support. 

I hope my Caroline will persevere in the culture of 
her mind, upon vdiich any pains and application she 
may bestow, will I doubt not be amply recompensed by 
the happy fruits they will produce. To the improve- 
ment of her understanding, and the acquisition of men- 
tal elegance should every woman direct her views, who 
would wish to appear in life with real dignity and 
lustre. How melancholy is it, my friend, to consider 
that so many of our sex should think of nothing but the 
embellishment of a body, which must soon or late moul- 
der into its original dust, whilst they entirely neglect 
their nobler part, which is an emanation of divinity, and 
will exist for ever. If our sex early applied themselves 
to the information of their minds, how many recks 
might they avoid, on which unfortunately they are now 

too 



( HI ) 

too often wrecked ! a love of dissipation is seldom the 
companion of an enlightened understanding. The mind 
that is stored with a variety of fine sentiments and beau- 
tiful ideas finds an inexhaustible fund of entertainment 
within itself, and consequently need not have recourse to 
that giddy, fantastick whirl of amusements, in which so 
many are absorbed. You, I hope and am almost sure, 
will never suffer yourself to be so wholly captivated by 
pleasure, as to neglect more useful and important points : 
I flatter myself you will stem the torrent of the world 
without being borne away with it. How truly laudable 
will it be in you, my Caroline, when living in the gay 
world, to consider worth and wisdom as the noblest dis- 
tinctions, the virtues as the brightest ornaments, and rec- 
titude of heart and manners as the genuine source of 
felicity* There is one thing, my beloved friend, you 
should be particularly cautious in, and that is your 
choice of intimates : may they always be such as are 
calculated to strengthen your virtuous dispositions, 
and not taint the purity and goodness of your soul. 
There is in bad examples a malignant contagion, 
which sometimes infects the most spotless minds; 
so apt -are we to contract the manners and sen- 
k 3 timents 



( 142 ) 

timents of those with whom we frequently associate. 
Never, my dearest friend, suffer yourself to be so far 
influenced by others, as to let them prevail upon you 
to deviate from the paths of truth and honor, but accord- 
ing to that noble maxim of an enlightened heathen, 

" Reverence thyself." 
Yes, my Caroline, if possible revere thyself too much 
ever to entertain a thought you would be ashamed to 
avow, or commit an action, which if known, might raise 
a blush upon your cheek : then will you have the uner- 
ring testimony of conscience in your favour, to gain 
which should be the great aim of every rational immortal 
being. Whilst you thus steadily pursue the paths of 
reason and virtue, all the worthy and discerning part of 
mankind will pay you a heart-felt respect. Supposing 
by your lational pursuits you should sometimes incur 
the ridicule of those, who, immersed in dissipation, have 
no taste for mental enjoyment, of how little conse- 
quence is their approbation ! surely virtuous and elegant 
minds cannot be delighted with the praises of the trifling 
or the vicious ; since panegyric from their lips is almost 
converted into satire. 



Let 



C 143 ) 

Let me now introduce a softer theme, and expatiate 
awhile upon our mutual friendship. How many bliss- 
ful moments have we passed together in this morning of 
our days, when the lively sensibilities of youth, and our 
hearts uncorrupted by a commerce with the world, 
have given us a zest for those pure exalted pleasures, 
which flow from a union of minds ! When remote from 
each other, engaged in scenes of life now unknown to us, 
how sweet will be the recollection of those hours of in- 
nocence and peace which we have here enjoyed ! it will be 
soothing to remember how we were here employed in the 
same occupations, pursued the same pleasing studies, 
and with a delight bordering on rapture, conversed to- 
gether with the enlightened dead, in the works of the 
sage moralist, or the tuneful bard ! With what pleasure 
shall I call to mind our intimate unreserved conversa- 
tion, when we freely communicated our sentiments upon 
the various subjects that occurred, and developed our 
minds without disguise. I flatter myself this delightful 
period, so peculiarly devoted to Truth and Friendship , 
will not be banished from your memory, in that region of 
poiile dissimulation, the gay fashionable world. May our 
attachment ever remain constant and uninterrupted, to 

K 4» sweeten 



( 144 ) 

sweeten all our cares, and reciprocally heighten every 
joy. Dr. Young finely says, 

t€ Celestial Happiness whene'er she stoops 
To visit earth, one shrine the goddess finds, 
And one alone to make her sweet amends 
For absent Heav'n, the bosom of a Friend. 
With these beautifully expressive lines I will conclude, 
and hope that sacred Friendship, which is the subject of 
them, will never be found wanting either in my Caroline, 
or in, 

her sincere friend, 

E. MILNES. 



REFLECTIONS 



( 145 ) 



REFLECTIONS UPON MY 
BIRTH-DAY. 

UPON this day, in which sixteen revolving years 
cf my life are completed, let me devote a short time 
to serious reflections on the object of my creation, and 
the returns I ought to make to that Goodness which has 
bestowed life upon me, and crowned this first gift with a 
thousand other valuable ones, What use should I make 
of the existence which Heaven has granted me ? I should 
doubtless live up to the dignity of my reasonable nature, 
by adoring my great Creator, and obeying his divine laws. 
This conduct will contribute to render me useful to others, 
and to secure my own felicity* both through the fleeting 
years of Time, and the ever-rolling ages of Eternity. 
It is not sufficient that I shun criminal pursuits, I must 
not wholly abandon myself to frivolous ones, and consume 
all my fugitive, my inestimable moments, in the flowery 
paths of indolence and light amusement. Innocent 

pleasures 



( 146 ) 

pleasures I may moderately enjoy, but must not make 
them the sole business of my life ; for that would be be- 
neath the grandeur of a human soul, its illustrious Ori- 
gin, and immortal expectations* No ! I should culti- 
vate in my soul the noble principles of genuine piety and 
virtue, and illuminate my mind with wisdom and know- 
ledge ; it is incumbent on me to serve my fellow crea- 
tures with those means which bounteous Providence has 
granted me, and to practise each virtue belonging to my 
station ; then will every pleasure be doubly delightful, 
from being sweeUned with intervals of rational employ- 
ment, and the enlivening consciousness of having dis- 
charged my duty. Let me form this resolution, (though 
jt may be difficult to keep) that I will obey the dictates of 
Piety and Virtue, in spite of the tyranny of custom, the 
magic influence of fashion, and the much-dreaded force 
of ridicule. May I ever consider the vanity of human 
applause, when compared with the approbation of my 
unerring, omnipotent Creator, and the heart-soothing 
praises of my internal monitor. Not that I should be 
entirely regardless of the opinion of mankind, and, (sa- 
tisfied with conscious rectitude,) care not how I appear 
in the eyes of my fellow creatures ; Reason tells me this 
would be a blameable self-injustice, and that I must be 

studious 



( 147 ) 

studious to preserve, that inestimable treasure, a good 
name. May I never be too deeply enamoured of this 
sublunary world, and its short lived joys. In 
short, to sum up all in a petition to that Power from 
whom I draw my breath, "Grant me, great God, with ra- 
tional fervent piety to Thee, and sincere diffusive benevo- 
lence towards my fellow creatures; with a peaceful con- 
science, and unblemished reputation ; with well regu- 
lated affections, and an eye calmly and invariably fixed 
upon immortality, to pass through this fleeting scene of 
things, till thou shalt claim that life which thou gavest : 
then may I serenely meet my inevitable destiny, free from 
those pangs which tear the soul that is wedded to mor- 
tality, and may my unfettered spirit be for ever happy 
in it's union with Thee." 



AN 



( 148 ) 



AN ESSAY ON 
MARRIAGE. 

J. HAVE often reflected with mingled wonder and 
compassion uprn that error, nay I may say that criminal 
practice now so prevalent amongst highly civilized nations, 
of forming the nuptial tie without affection, merely for 
the sake of wealth and splendor. Would one think it 
possible, it "theie were not such frequent instances of it in 
the world, that a being endowed with the divine privilege 
of reason, should ever be so pitiably absurd as to barter 
happiness, that invaluable jewel, for a little empty pa- 
geantry or sordid dross ? When two congenial minds 
possessed of virtue, understanding, and sensibility, are 
united in Hymen's bands, by the gentle tie of love, 
strengthened with the golden cord of Friendship, I can 
conceive no happiness equal to what the conjugal state 
must afford. But on the other hand, surely no misery 
can be equal to that, which this most intimate union 

must 



( 149 ) 

must produce, when it is not contracted from any mo- 
tives of esteem and tenderness, but from the unworthy 
views of interest and grandeur. In what a false light 
is Marriage now too often considered, when it is 
looked upon, not as a state meant to bestow do- 
mestic bliss and heart- felt joys, (superior to all the 
vapid amusements, a dissipated world can afford,) 
where a union of hearts is the first point to be regarded ; 
but as a mercenary traffick of worldly goods, and where 
instead of the gentle god of love, the sordid deity of in- 
terest is now the chief conductor to Hymen's sacred 
temple. Thus in the place of mutual confidence, a re- 
ciprocal participation of joy and sorrow, a constant en- 
deavour to promote each other's felicity, and all those 
-amiable solicitudes of which true affection is the parent, 
cold reserve, sharp altercation, poignant reproaches, con- 
temptuous sneers, or at best polite indifference, and frigid 
complaisance are the unpleasing attendants of marriage. 
And when the wedded life is thus embittered by domes- 
tic jars and home-felt grievances, what does the gay 
parade of pomp and equipage avail? It may indeed 
serve as a splendid covering to misery, and dazzle the 
eyes of superficial observers, but in spite of all external 
distinctions, grief and chagrin will secretly invade the in- 
most recesses of the heart. Where domestic happiness is 

wanting 



( 150 ) 

wanting, there will always be a melancholy aching void" 
in the breast, which nothing can satisfy. 

" But happy they, the happiest of their kind, 
Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate 
Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend. 
Tis not the coarser tie of human laws, 
Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind, 
That binds their peace ; but harmony itself 
Attuning all their passions into love. 
Thus sings the elegant pathetic Thomson; indeed the 
whole of his description of conjugal felicity, from whence 
the above lines are taken, is inexpressibly beautiful. He 
has drawn such an enchanting picture, as I should hope is 
sometimes, though I fear not often, realised. So seldom 
is it, alas ! that kindred souls, ,drawn to each other by 
the magnetic influence of correspondent sentiments and 
dispositions, meet in the bonds of marriage. 



AN 



( 151 > 



AN ESSAY ON 
POLITENESS. - 



X HE politeness which is at present established in the 
world, instead of real elegance of deportment, and an 
unaffected desire of pleasing, is only a false gloss, which 
people of superficial judgment mistake for a true polish ; 
and this artificial composition of unmeaning flattery and 
troublesome ceremony, banishes that noble simplicity of 
heart and manners, which is the foundation of excel- 
lence, and the characteristic of a great soul. Natural 
complacency of disposition, united to a mind improved 
and adorned by a liberal education, miut produce that 
amiable polkeness,which does not consist merely in exter- 
nal shew ; but proceeds from the heart and understanding i 
I think* the true criterion of politeness is. a sincere, uni- 
form endeavour to render others happy, embellished by 
a graceful manner of obliging, and united to the most 
refined species of decorum. It never displays itself in 

importunate 



( 152 ) 

importunate civility or unworthy adulation. ButrTiis 
happy talent has Nature for its basis, though it may be 
refined by knowledge, and a frequent intercourse with 
the more polished, enlightened part of mankind. Polite- 
ness adds a new lustre to excellence, and places it in a 
more amiable point of view; it is a kind of delicate fi- 
nishing, which gives beauty to the whole. Fashionable 
complaisance, which teaches us to disguise our sentiments, 
and under the mask of good breeding, to conceal false- 
hood and deceit, cannot be sufficiently despised ; since it 
destroys, in some measure, the distinctions between vice 
and virtue, and yet, is admired as an engaging qualifi- 
cation. A person who thinks justly, would rather be 
censured by the undiscerning part of the world, than de- 
viate from truth, and consequently, from native elegance, 
by a mean compliance with the laws of fashion. In 
short, genuine politeness appears to me to consist in 
benevolence, and a just sense of elegance and propriety. 
These appear in the external modes of behaviour, and 
exert- themst Ives in universal affability, amiable conde- 
scension, and an habitual delicacy of manners, senti- 
ment, and exptession. 



AN 



( 153 ) 



AN ESSAY ON 
OLD-AGE. 



€< The soul no more on mortal good relies ; 
But nobler objects urge her hopes and fears, 
And sick of folly, views no tempting prize 
Beneath the radiant circle of the stars." 

Carter. 

AN advanced life is at once the object of our hopes 
and fears. Extreme old age is surely not desirable, 
since in general it has the bodily and intellectual feeble- 
ness of infancy, but not, alas! its sprightly joys. It is 
the gloomy night of human existence, which damps the 
vital spirit, obscures the light of reason, and draws a 
dark veil over every scene around us. But there is a 
period properly termed the evening of our days, in 
which the wise and good appear with peculiar dignity. 

l When 



( 154 ) 

When the joyous morn of youth, and the ardent noon of 
manhood are past, then comes the peaceful eve of life, 
which to the viriuous,like the close of a fine summer's day 
is clear, temperate, and serene. It is a season highly fa- 
vourable to truth and goodness, since reason and expe- 
rience must then (if ever) correct the delusions of fancy, 
dispel the mists of prejudice; and subdue the wild trans- 
ports of passion. A man of an improved understanding 
thus mellowed by time into sound judgment and reflec- 
tion, when he withdraws from the bustle of the world 
into that retirement which is the privilege of age, is at 
full liberty to enjoy the highest intellectual gratifica- 
tions. He has neither the flutter of juvenile amusements, 
or the ambitious pursuits of riper years to disturb his 
thoughts, and seduce his attention from the great ob- 
jects of a rational immortal being. I suppose him to 
have kept clear of avarice, a vice usually (and it must be 
confessed with too much reason) attributed to age. 
For a man possessed with the love of money is enslaved 
by the lowest anxieties and most despicable cares : his 
restless solicitude for wealth, disqualifies him for every 
elevated sentiment and liberal pursuit. Since covetous- 
ness is so often to be found with the aged, can we too 

highly 



( 155 ) 

highly reverence and admire the characters of those, who 
unite the wisdom and prudence of years, with the gene- 
rosity and benevolence cf youth ? How amiable, how 
happy is the evening of Atticus's well-spent life ! In 
the meridian of his days he exerted his active powers 
in a useful and upright course of action. He is now 
gracefully retired from the gay and the busy scene, to 
the peaceful shade of a wise and learned, yet benevolent 
and social privacy ; there with sublime satisfaction he 
contemplates a life sacred to virtue and humanity. He 
laments some few errors into which he was betrayed by 
inexperience, and the impetuosity of youthful passion ; 
though indeed they only served to attach him more 
deeply to wisdom and virtue, by shewing him that their 
slightest deviations are to an ingenuous mind, attended 
with anguish and regret. He rejoices that he is no 
longer subject to such temptations, and reviews the 
paths he has trod, with the satisfaction of a traveller 
escaped from a dangerous perplexing journey. He has 
cultivated Science and the Muses, not only to contribute 
to his honour and usefulness in the world, but to reap 
the fruits of them (as he now does) in the vale of years, 
Atticus devotes a great part of the leisure he enjoys, to 

l 2 the 



( 156 ) 

the sublime exercises of Devotion, and the pleasing 
offices of beneficence and domestic love. He carefully 
guards against petulance and caprice, gloom and seve- 
rity. He is blest with an offspring, that promise t« 
perpetuate his virtues when he is no more. And his 
most delightful employment, is to assist them in the 
pursuits of knowledge, and train them up to every mo- 
ral excellence. 



REFLECTIONS 



< 157 ) 



REFLECTIONS 

Upon the Day called in the Christian Calendar 

GOOD - FRIDAY. 



JL HIS is the awful, the tremendous day, on which the 
great Author of our Redemption with his precious blood, 
purchased Salvation for a guilty race : he suffered the 
most excruciating pangs to obtain for us the most trans- 
porting enjoyments ; he endured an ignominious death 
to exalt us to a glorious immortality ; 
" Heaven wept that man might smile, 
Heaven bled that man might never die." ! 
What heart but glows at thoughts like these ? Those 
bosoms must be cold and languid indeed, which are not 
warmed with the consideration of that all* surpassing 
love displayed in our Redemption. They must be des- 
titute of every feeling of humanity, who are not moved 
with the inexpressibly pathetic descriptions which the 
l 3 sacred 



( 158 ) 

sacred writers give us cf the sufferings of our 
blessed Lord : surely, if we reflect those sufferings were 
for our sakes, they clajm a double portion of grief and 
compassion. Entertain, oh my soul, a jubt sense of 
the transcendant goodness of thy Maker, in sending his 
beloved Son to secure to thee, by his death, (if thou art 
not wanting to thyself,) an immortal felicity. Think 
how great will be thy guilt, if thou abusest the inestima- 
ble advantages derived to thee from the Saviour of man- 
kind. What canst thou justly plead in thy excuse at the 
awful tribunal of God, if (after being illuminated with 
the divine light of the Gospel, and fully convinced of 
the truth of the Christian doctrine,) the deceitful allure- 
ments and fleeting enjoyments of this transitory world, 
should make thee unmindful of what thy Redeemer 
taught, and alienate thy affections from the Fountain of 
all good. 

Contemplate frequently on the dread catastrophe of 
this day, till thou glowest with gratitude for the 
astonishing benefit conferred upon thee, and art resolved 
to make all the returns, thy limited abilities will permit. 
Endeavour as much as thou canst, to copy the bright 
pattern of goodness which Jesns so illustriously exhibited. 
Difficult as it is, strive to imitate his diffusive benevo- 
lence, 



( 159 } 

lence, uncircumscribed by any narrow distinctions ; bis 
spotless purity of manners, amiable meekness, and (that 
hardest but most divine duty which Christianity enforces) 
his forgiveness of injuries, gloriously manifested this day. 
Let his matchless precepts be engraved on thy heart, 
and, oh may the genuine Christian breathe through 
the whole tenor of thy life and actions ! Ever 
avoid the too common error of confiding in thy 
own strength, and vainly attributing thy merits to thy- 
self. Fail not daily to implore the divine grace, and ac- 
knowledge its salutary aid : forget not, without that un- 
failing support, the slightest accident may bring the frail 
fabrick of human resolution to the ground. Whatever 
excellencies thou dost possess, whatever laudable ac« 
tions thou dost perform, destroy them not with pride 
and arrogance, but ascribe them to the original, eternal 
source of all Perfection.— -Such, oh my soul, be thy 
conduct upon earth, and when thou hast finished thy 
course, mayest thou joyfully spring forth to receive the 
crown of immortality due to thy virtues. 



l 4 



( 160 ) 



A DESCRIPTION 

OF A 

LEARNED LADY. 

i 

v^LASSICA, is what the world calls a learned woman, 
that is to say, she has read a great many authors, and 
the knowledge she has acquired from them, has only 
served to render her conceitedly vain and arrogant. Her 
whole behaviour seems to imply a consciousness of her 
own mental abilities, and a supercilious contempt of 
others. In company she is so tenacious of her opinion, 
and so prepossessed in favor of her own judgment, that 
the clearest arguments have no weight with her, when 
contradictory to her sentiments. The advantages of 
literature have been so far from enlarging her mind, that 
they have rather contracted it, for by her intolerable 
self-conceit, she is incapable of paying the just regard 
to, or even of distinguishing excellence ; and though she 

is 



( 161 ) 

is blind to the greatest of her own imperfections, she 
cannot excuse the smallest frailties in another. She is 
ostentatiously fond of confounding people with her learn- 
ing, and endeavours to display her profound erudition, 
by far fetched obscure expressions, which often make 
her conversation unintelligible. A smattering know- 
ledge of Greek and Latin, gives the finishing stroke 
to the pedantry of this lady, for she is continually quot- 
ing the ancients, and by her misapplication of them, 
renders herself equally contemptible and ridiculous. 
The domestic duties of life appear too trifling for her 
exalted genius ; so that she neglects the practice of 
those virtues which place womankind in the most amiable 
point of view, and by her abuse of learning, becomes in- 
capable of shining in any sphere. How different from 
this character is that of Sophronia ! she possesses a cul- 
tivated polished understanding, and that liberal elegance 
of thinking, which proceeds from a mind adorr.ed and 
enlightened by knowledge. Though she is perfectly ac- 
quainted with the best authors of all ages, she makes 
no parade of her large share of learning, but employs 
it to the most noble and valuable purposes. Instead of 
regarding others with contempt for being moie ignorant 
than herself, she shews a generous condescension to their 



( 162 ) 

weakness, and if she endeavours to give them informa- 
tion, doesit with such humility and complacency, as give 
double force and beauty to her wisdom. She never expects 
to find humanity perfec:, but looks with a generous com- 
passion upon those frailties she knows none are exempt 
from. She has a soul unfettered by vanity, folly, and 
every trifling conception, and while she rises above the 
generality of women with an amiable superiority, seems 
herself unconscious of it. There are some people of 
talents, who take every occasion to prove their brilliancy 
of parts ; but this lady is so far from exerting all her 
abilities to excel in company, that she would rather give 
others an opportunity of shining, by conversing upon 
such subjects as they are best acquainted with; and 
since she is totally free from those vulgar prejudices 
which render us so bigotted to our own manner of think- 
ing, as to imagine none can be right but oui selves, the is 
not fond of vain disputation. She is skilled in the more 
soft and elegant accomplishments, and behaves with that 
genuine politeness which flows from the understanding and 
the heart. Her language is pure, delicate^and unaffected, 
and her sentiments beautiful, sublime, and just. She 
ever avoids singularity, except in those things which her 
reason and judgment apparently condemn; then indeed 

she 



( 103) 

she can despise the world's censures, and is not meanly 
afraid of acting right. From the judicious reflections 
she can make, and the knowledge she can gain by listen- 
ing to the conversation of others, she chuses often rather 
to sit silent than display the elegance and dignity of her 
own mind. But, when she speaks, every sensible person is 
charmed with the justness of her thoughts, and graceful 
propriety of her speech. In a word, she unites true 
learning and manly strength of understanding, to femi- 
nine purity and delicacy of manners. 



( K34 ) 



A CONVERSATION PIECE : 

BETWEEN 

CAMILLUS & EMILIA, 

UPON FAME. 

An admirable lesson to the modern Gauls, and their 
tyrannick Usurper Napoleon the First. 

C/AMILLUS. Well, Emilia, what book are you pe- 
rusing with such attention ? If I may presume to be 
the inte preter of your countenance, you are greatly 
pleased with it, 

Em. I have got Plutarch's lives, and am reading the 
life of Alexander, as you suppose too, I am highly de- 
lighted : what a noble, surprising man he was! well 
might he be styled Great, and complimented as the son 
of Jove. 

Cam. Pardon me, madam, if I differ from you in 
opinion, and declare myself far from regarding Alexan- 
der ip so exalted alight. I am sensible there is a splen- 
dor 



( 1 65 ) 

dor in conquests, which has too much dazzled the eyes 
of men, and prevented their properly estimating the leal 
merit of actions. Let us view the victories of your mighty 
conqueror with the penetrating eye of reason, and strip 
them of the specious glare which surrounds them, then 
his glory will be converted into infamy, and the wreath 
of false honour which encircled his brow, will lose all 
its fading colours. 

Em. I thought Alexander was universally admired as 
the greatest hero the world ever saw ; and I think yo« 
cannot deny that he displayed shining proofs of the most 
sublime virtues; witness his generous treatment of the 
widow and family of Darius, his noble behaviour to 
Philip, his physician, when accused of having conspired 
with that monarch to poison him : indeed I shall always 
admire the Godlike man. 

Cam. Godlike did you say, madam } That considered in 
the true sense of the word,is an epithet indeed, which has 
often been bestowed upon conquerors, but with great im- . 
propriety. The gracious Parent of the universe is Benefi- 
cence itself; his mercies are extended over all his works; 
he delights not in destruction, but with a divine benig- 
nity, continually endeavours to promote the good and 
felicity of his creatures. How then can a hero, who 

ravaged 



( 165 ) 

ravaged the globe to gratify his own boundless ambition, 
and lavished the blood of thousands to crown himself 
with laurels, how, I say, can such a destructive being, 
be compared with the bounteous Bestower, and great 
Preserver of all ? 

I allow those instances you produce of Alexander's 
generosity were truly great, to which some others might 
be added : but still they were by no means sufficient to 
counterbalance his detestable vices, and particularly, his 
cruel tyranny. 

Em. I should be glad to know your sentiments of great- 
ness, and what may properly be allowed to constitute 
it. 

Cam. You must acknowledge, madam, that true 
greatness is not seated in rank, power, or any external 
distinctions. If a man is vicious in his actions, mean 
and contracted in his sentiments, what can dignify 
him ? 

" Not all the blood of all the Howards/' 
Nor does true greatness attend upon victories and con* 
quests ; ill my humble opinion, it is rarely the companion 
of those splendid atchievements which attract the notice 
and admiration of mankind : it can only flow from genuine 
exalted goodness, the brightest ornament and noblest 

distinction 



( 167 ) 

distinction of humanity. It is certain that the truly 
good are ever enemies to ostentation : they practise 
their serene virtues with modest secrecy, without court- 
ing human honour and applause : they love 
" Along the cool sequestered vale of life 
To keep the noiseless tenor of their way." 
You are not acquainted with my friend Atticus, who so 
perfectly answers my description, and is, I think, a cha- 
racter greatly superior to most of your celebrated heroes 
of antiquity. 

Em. You will oblige me, Camillas, in giving me a 
more particular account of the disposition and conduct 
of the man you so highty esteem. 

Cam. You impose a pleasing task upon me, in desir- 
ing me to paint the virtues of my excellent friend. He 
is a man of genuine piety, and consequently w T ell regu- 
lated passions. His soul is uncommonly generous, hu- 
mane, and feeling; he possesses a genteel though not a 
splendid fortune, which, conducted with economy, (the 
true source of liberality,) enables him to gratify his be- 
nevolent inclinations. He contracts the circle of his 
own expences, that he may enlarge that of his benefi- 
cence, It is the greatest pleasure of his life to diffuse happi- 
ness on all around him ; to relieve the indigent, encourage 

the 



( 188 ) 

the industrious, and comfort the afflicted. You cannot 
confer a greater obligation upon Atticus, than to furnish 
him with an opportunity of cherishing an unfoitunate, 
or assisting a worthy man ; and he always bestows his 
bounties in the most engaging manner, with a tender- 
ness and complacency peculiar to himself. Me also, 
with a truly evangelical spirit, endeavours to promote 
peace and concord wherever he comes. Yet I may 
venture to say, my incomparable friend is ever actuated 
by nobler motives than a desire of worldly applause ; for 
I know that his acts of beneficence are performed with- 
out noise and ostentation. He already reaps his re- 
ward ; conscious goodness, and the pleasing expectation 
of a happy immortality, spread a continual sunshine 
through his mind, and his every word and action pro- 
claim the serenity within. Such is the worthy and 
respectable Atticus, whom the poor love and reverence 
as they would some beneficent angel. Every eye glis- 
tens to behold Atticus, every mouth dwells with rapture 
on his name, and eagerly pronounces his heart-felt 
praises. Now tell me, Emilia, does not Atticus surpass 
your favourite Macedonian ? Is he not more truly no- 
ble than those boasted heroes, who seem born only to 
scourge and torment the world? Does he not more 

nearly 



( 169 ) 

nearly resemble the most benevolent of Beings, and may 
he not with greater propriety be styled the Godlike 
man ? 

Em. Indeed I own it, and feel the force of so exalted 
and amiable a character. I find it is your opinion that 
there have been more truly illustrious men in the pri- 
vate, than the public walks of life; more that have 
flourished in the shade, than who have been surrounded 
with the blaze of glory. I suppose the greatest part of 
those who shine in the records of fan\e, stand but low 
in your estimation.- 

Cam* There are some distinguished in the book of 
renown, whom I truly honor and revere, and there are 
others for whom I entertain the utmost contempt, since- 
they seem to have been stimulated by ambition only, to 
the performance of those actions which drew upon 
them the admiration of the world. Such were I think, 
in general, the Romans, whose boasted virtues are, in 
my mind, little better than splendid vices. What was 
their admired patriotism but vain glory concealed under 
that specious mask ? Ambition was the ruling princi- 
ple in almost every Roman breast ; and this fond desire 
.of glory, spurred them on to the achievement of those 

M conquests 



( 170 ) 

conquests in which they so grossly violated all the laws 
of justice and humanity. I shudder when I think of 
the dreadful havock made by these tyrants of the world, 
to indulge their own inordinate thirst of sway ! Plun* 
der, slaughter, and devastation were the means by 
which Rome reached that dazzling height of greatness 
she attained, so that her sons may without injustice be 
slyled celebrated robbers, and distinguished ruffians. 

Em. Nay, Camillus, you go too far in thus villifyingf 
a people who have been so justly admired for their 
many illustrious virtues. How estimable was their 
ardent affection for their country, notwithstanding 
what you have been pleased to say to the contrary ! 
How admirable their magnanimity of soul, and heroic 
valour, their unshaken fortitude and perseverance, theii 
delicate fear of shame, and generous love of glory ! 
Though it seems not so perfectly in character with the 
female mind, to admire that high strain of rigid virtue 
which distinguished the Romans, yet I own it inspires 
me with reverence, that they were capable of overcom- 
ing the more tender feelings of the heart, when they 
interfered with the nobler passions. Reflect, Camillus, 
on the many shining wortkies Rome produced. Do you 

not 



( 171 ) 

not admire Junius Brutus, who sacrificed his sons to 
impartial justice ; and the upright Regulus, whose sa- 
cred regard for truth was such, that he exposed himself 
to all the tortures an enraged people could inflict, rather 
than violate his word ? You must acknowledge Camillus, 
that the genuine flame of patriotism warmed the breasts of 
the Decii,and the bosom of the second Brutus, who would 
not suffer any private attachment to prevail with him 
over the consideration of the general good, and perform- 
ed a harder task than the Decii ; as they only devoted 
themselves to death. I doubt not but you reverence the 
patriotic Cato,who, after he had bravely struggled in de- 
fence of Roman liberty, (agreeably to Heathen virtue,) 
would not survive its destruction. What a fine pattern 
of every manly viitue and accomplishment was the 
younger Scipio Africanus ! I am so charmed with his 
amiable character, that he is my favourite hero. Even 
the women seemed to partake of that grandeur of soul 
which so eminently distinguished the men : Lueretia, 
Cornelia, Porcia, must for ever be considered as an ho- 
nour to the country in which they flourished. 

Cam. Far be it from me to censure all the noble in- 
dividuals Rome produced. I only argue, that the Ro- 

M 2 man? 



( 172 ) 

maris in general were more actuated by the principles of 
vain glory, than by more elevated motives. It has been 
said, that pride was the basis of the Heathen virtues, 
arid I think there appears to be great truth in the ob- 
servation. Will you permit me to quote one memorable 
instance from your sex ? The famous Lucretia, so 
celebrated for her chastity and magnanimity, seems 
to have preferred the shadow of virtue to the sub- 
stance. Though she braved the fear of death rather 
than relinquish her honour, yet when the abandoned 
Tarcjuin threatened to brand her name with infamy, she 
was not proof against this dreadful menace : unable to 
support the thought of being for ever regarded in an ig- 
nominious light, when removed from the possibility of 
vindicating herself, she parted from her chastity, rather 
than suffer so terrible a forfeiture of reputation. 

Em. Methinks, Camillus, you are determined to de- 
rogate from the merit of every one, who has been admired 
and celebrated. Even the divine Lucretia, who has been 
considered as a paragon of virtue, cannot escape your 
censure. The high sense she entertained of purity and 
innocence, was sufficiently proved by her heroic exit : 
when with an intrepidity, which seldom dwells in a fe- 
male 



( 173 ) 

male breast, she set an example to her sex in all succeed- 
ing a<*cs, of the sacred regard they should pay to chastity, 
not being able to outlive the violation of her's. 

Cam. I could produce other instances to prove how 
much the wisest and most virtuous among the Heathens 
(but especially the Romans) were influenced by a desire 
of fame: one particular instance J will mention, which 
is taken notice of in the Spectator, The immortal Ci- 
cero, that illustrious pattern of uncommon literary 
talents, and moral conduct united, desired one, who 
was writing the history of his own times, to be very 
particular in the account of Ms consulship, and in the en- 
comiums he bestowed on him, to say more than even truth 
would allow of. There is great reason to believe renown 
was the ruling passion of the most celebrated of every 
sect ; that the haughty stoic, the snarling cynic, the vo- 
luptuous epicurean, all courted the delusive phantom ; 
this, I doubt not, in a great measure, gave rise to the 
struggles of Cato for expiring freedom, the affected po- 
verty of Diogenes, and the splendid actions of Caesar. 

Em. What you say is very true ; for the desire of glory 
is a natural principle, and if properly directed a noble one: 
take away that, and I am apt to think you will destroy 
half, nay, perhaps a much larger portion of the merit 

;hat 



( 174) 

that is to be found in the world. This passion for fame 
generally prevails most strongly in the minds of those, 
who possess the finest talents, and most enlarged senti- 
ments; it was not peculiar to theHeathens,but is I believe 
almost as often to be met with in the bosoms of Chris- 
tians 5 and I hope you will not deem me uncharitable in 
supposing, it frequently in some degree gives birth to 
their most laudable actions. 

Cam, The laudable actions of genuine Christians, can 
never, I think, flow from such a source ; since to prac- 
tise virtue for the sake of mortal applause is repugnant 
to the true genius of Christianity, which instructs us to 
seek only the approbation of Him "who seeth in secret, 
and shall reward us openly." What a glorious incentive 
is this, Emilia, to the practice of private goodness ! An 
incentive the Pagans were strangers to. We cannot so 
severely censure them for making human glory the ulti- 
mate cad of their actions, (as it is highly probable they 
did) since they were uncertain with respect to a future 
reward. But it is certainly condemnable in those, who 
are enlightened with the religion of Jesus, that enemy to 
vanity and ostentation, which sets the noble prospect of 
immoital happiness before us, and bids us obtain it, not 



( 175 ) 

by such shining acts, as procure the admiration of 
Short-sighted mortals ; but by inward purity and holi- 
ness, meekness and humility, serene beneficence, with 
all those silent virtues which compose genuine worth, 

Em. You seem, Camillus, a little too refined in your 
notions of virtue. The desire of applause is so natural 
to the human mind, that I believe it is to be found more 
or less in every breast, or at least, that the most abject 
bosoms alone are exempt from it : it has been observed, 
you know, that we only despise praise* when we cease 
to deserve it. Even you, who argue so warmly against 
the love of praise, have, I doubt not, often felt the ani- 
mating influence of this universal passion. Our prima- 
ry, ultimate end should doubtless be the approbation of 
Heaven, and our own heart ; but may not a desire of 
Standing high in the estimation of our fellow mortals, by 
the practice of what is truly excellent be our secondary 
aim, without interfering with the first ? 

Cam. It appears to me, if we perform an action, 
laudable in itself, from any view of obtaining the praises 
of men, it derogates so far from its real merit, that it 
will not be crowned with unmixed applause by the faith- 
ful monitor within, who always approves or condemns in 

■ concurrence 



( m ) 

concurrence with that Being whose vicegerent she is. 
Contemplate, Emilia, the great Founder of the Christian 
system ; consider his humble unambitious conduct, 
how little he regarded the applauses of mortals, as vou 
will find in various instances. How did he inculcate a 
noble disregard of human praise, (a virtue till then un- 
known) when he commanded his followers to perform 
their acts of chanty and devotion in secret, as for ex- 
ample, fi Take heed that ye do not your alms before 
men to be seen of them, otherwise ye have no reward 
of your Father, which is in Heaven," then again, 
iC And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hy- 
pocrites are ; for they love to pray standing in the sy- 
nagogues, and in the corners of the streets, verily I say 
unto you, they have their reward." Thus our Divine 
Lord tells us in the strongest and most expressive 
term?, that if in our good actions we are influenced by 
the de&ire of worldly approbation, that is all the re- 
compence we must expect from them, for we shall have 
no reward of our Father which is in Heaven ; an alarm- 
ing assurance indeed ! But can you figure to yourself 
any thing more noble, than the character of a genuine 
Christian, who, with views exalted above the transient 

applause 



( 177 "> 

Applause and shadowy glory, which are derived from 
sublunary beings, moves on in the paths of rectitude and 
goodness, with silent dignity ; satisfied with his own 
inward feelings, and the consciousness of the favour of 
that Being, who has unerring wisdom to discern worth, 
and has in the highest degree a will, and a capacity to 
reward it ! This is indeed, the truly great man, who 
adorns, and ennobles human nature ! 

Em. By the force of religious truth you have now 
convinced me, Camillus, tftat the love of fame is meatt^ 
in comparison with the contempt of it* 



** A LETTER 



( 178:: > 



A LETTER 



TO A FRIEND. 



X OU and I, my Caroline, have often mentioned wit& 
pity, those giddy unthinking creatures, who, having 
no taste for moral and intellectual enjoyments, and- 
destitute of every finer relish, are perpetually endeavour- 
ing to lose themselves in the tumultuous- scenes o£ 
modern dissipation. Their case, my friend, is indeed 
truly pitiable, since, unmindful of the noble ends of 
their creation, they treat time,that inestimable je\vel,!ike* 
an insignificant bauble, foolishlv throwing it away upon 
every idle amusement or frivolous pursuit, and inca- 
pacitate themselves from fulfilling either the religious or 
social duties. How can they contemplate on their di- 
vine Creator* or pay him the proper tribute of praise 
anxLadoratkn, when solitude is regarded as their greatest. 

enemy,. 



< 179 ) 

ferie my, while a*i unbounded fondness for pleasure, ab- 
sorbs all the faculties and affections of their souls ? 
How can they practise any acts of benevolence, relieve 
the indigent, succour the friendless, eomfort the afflicted, 
when both their time and fortunes are squandered upon 
dress, cards, and every light expensive entertainment .? 
What strangers are your followers of dissipation to all 
the sweet heart- felt pleasures of domestic life, and the 
rational delights which flow from sincere regard. Friend- 
ship is nut a plant that flourishes in the fashionable 
world : it rather blooms in the tranquil shades of retire- 
ment, remote from that destructive region of polite 
insincerity. Your modish people, my Caroline, may 
be truly said to be 

" ■ e'en desolate in: crowds," 

For, with all the promiscuous numbers with which they 
are surrounded, there can be nothing but odious dissi- 
mulation and restraint ; there can be no agreeable 
mixture of minds, no free communication of the heart, 
and without these, what is society, but the worst spe- 
cies of solitude ? Besides, what a contemptible 
figure in general, do the votaries of fashion and pleasure 
fnako in the decline of life ! What a joyless exist* 
n 2 ence 



( 18(7 ) 

ence is tlien th£ir portion ! In the gay, brilliant season 
of youth, wheri the imagination is warm, and the spirits" 
lively, things wear a very different aspect from what they 
tnust do, in the gloomy, dispassioned days of age. la 
the latter period, when worldly amusements charm no 
more, when all the sources of mortal pleasure are ex- 
hausted, what can diffuse any comfort or satisfaction 
through the mind, but the calm consciousness of a life 
well spent? Happy then, thrice happy, they, who early 
live up to the dignity of their nature, who tread the silent 
paths of wisdom, piety and benevolence, and make the 
refined delights of genuine friendship their own ! By 
this means they taste the God -like satisfaction of doing 
good, and enjoy the delightful consciousness of the di- 
vine approbation. They meet with real love and defe- 
rence from their fellow creatures, and treasure up for 
themselves a fund of joy and consolation to gild the even* 
ing of life. If they reach the vale of years, they enjoy 
the noblest retrospective views, and the necessary con- 
sequence of them, the animating prospect of a happy 
immortality: Thus they glide gently into the grave, 
sincerely lamented by numbers to whose welfare and 
happiness their useful lives had contributed, and their 
memories are reverenced by the good and worthy. 

Whilst 



( isi ) 

Whilst on the contrary, those fluttering insects who bask 
for a short time in the sunshine of pleasure, die unla* 
mented, unregarded. 

i< — They flutter on 

u From toy to toy, from vanity to vice* 
4€ Till blown away by death, oblivion comes 
u Behind, and strikes them from the book of life." 

THOMSON. 

That this may never be our case, my dear friend, is 
my hearty prayer, and I am sure \ou concur with me 
m it. I am, my ever amiable Caroline, 

Tour's, with the tenderest affection, 

E. MILNES. 



N 3 TUB 



( 182 ) 



The four following Letters of Mr* Day* were found by the 
Editor, amongst some of Mr* D s Manuscript Papers, 
since the printing off his Prose, therefore, that cir- 
cumstance, it is hoped* will be deemed a sufficient 
apology for publishing them in this part of the Book* 

LETTER I. 

I HE foundation of civil government-, 
say some writers, is the security affoided by the Legis- 
lators to the people in return for its obedience. With* 7 
out this authority exercised by one party and submitted 
to by the other, no society could long exist, no property 
be secured, and mutual violence, by depriving mankind 
of all the advantages for which they are assembled, 
would soon drive them back to woods and caves. While 
this claim is confined to that voluntary obedience, which 
every nation will for its own advantage pay to its ftlagis- 
strates ; while it is nothing more than the wills of the 
society itself, enacting general rules, to repress the irre- 
gular passions and attempts of individuals; and while 
the guardians of the public security, assume no indepen- 
dent 



( 133 ) 

$ent Tights, or authority, I see no reason to oppose this 
particular system. In this case, it is no more than the 
natural and limited obedience which every man of com- 
mon sense practises, for his own emolument, upon a 
thousand different occasions. It is the deference which 
the sick man observes towards his physician, the travel- 
ler to his guide, and the mariner to his pilot. 

But not contented with this natural and obvious 
explanation, there are many who would establish every 
species of tyranny and oppression, upon these uncontro* 
vcrtible principles. ' To do this, they imitate certain di- 
vines, who allow the evidence of revelation to be derived 
from reason ; yet require you should admit what they 
tell you are its doctrines, wiihout reflection or examina- 
tion ; as if the understanding could, according to Mr. 
Hume's system, subvert itself, or an edifice be more 
-strong and durable than its foundation. In like manner 
these political enthusiasts allow, in compliance with the 
common sense and feelirigs.-of mankind, that the happiness 
of society is the end of all government, and its security 
the origin of all delegated power : yet is humanity no 
gainer by the concession, since its interests are to be 
softly the pretence and not the measure of authority. 
1-heir idol is, indeed, dhested of some part of its terrors, 

w if yet 



( 184 ) 

yet its admission is equally dangerous to the rights and 
liberties of mankind, 

* u Scandit fatalis machina muros, 

Foetaarmis, mediaeque minans illabitur urbi." 
But if we examine ever so lightly the nature of human 
society, we shall be convinced, that nothing is more falsd 
and presumptuous, than the pretences of any body of 
men to bestow safety upon the rest* To support this 
claim, it would be necessary that they should exclusively 
possess strength, prudence, and exertion: that they 
should subdue the elements by their labour, repel the 
attacks of hostile invasion, by their fortitude, and by 
their wisdom procure for their fellow creatures every 
domestic blessing. Unfortunately for the interests of 
human nature, no such distinguished class of beings has 
ever yet appeared. Even the best government can effect no* 
thing without the assistance of the people. The most legal 
and enlightened rulers can pretend to no greater praise, 
than that of properly directing the forces of the state; 
an arduous and tremendous task, not lightly to be at- 
tempted, nor easily effected ; which properly executed, 
entitles them to the highest honors, and negligently or 
fraudulently discharged, ought to subject them to the 

severest 



( 185 ) 

severest penalties; — 

" Ostende ullam vel naturae, vel naturalis justitiac 
rcgulam, qua oporteat reos minores puniri, reges, et ma^ 
Jorum omnium prinapes, impunitos esse, ' 

But let us allow, what will, I am sure, without 
any difficulty be proved, that government of Some par* 
ticular kind is necessary to the happiness of the species. 
What can be inferred from this i Nothing more, than 
that it is of the highest importance for mankind 
to take such measures as may ensure a succession 
of wis&and honest governors, The necessity of govern- 
jnent can vno more imply the necessity of blind, uncon- 
ditional obedfence, than the necessity of sustenance or 
health can oblige man to submit to be starved or poi^ 
Soned,as often as farmers shall chuse to withhold their 
grain, or apothecaries to adulterate their medicines* 

Laws are no more than certain general rules of con- 
duct, whicr^ experience has proved to be necessary to 
the general safety ; the wise and virtuous practise them, 
from motives of honor, and a conviction of their utility; 
the foolish and vicious must be bended to compliance, 
by a proper and legal compulsion ; magistrates, of what- 
ever name and title, are a body of men, instituted for 

tbe 



( 186 ) 

the purpose alone of demanding an universal observance 
of what the common will has established, by the powers 
which the common consent has entrusted to them. In 
this view of things, which is the only just one, it will 
appear evident, that every government is a means only 
of acquiring certain advantages, which cannot be attain- 
ed without it, that it is always subordinate and relative 
to the grvat object of its institution, the good of the na- 
tion which submits to it ; that this submission is a vo- 
luntary, limited, modified resignation of natural right ; 
and that consequently no magistrate can pretend to an 
independent existence or authority without betraying his 
trust, and being guilty of the most audacious treason 
and rebellion agdinst the Majesty of the People. 

If the actual situation of most countries furnishes a 
picture very different from what I have been drawing; 
if violence and fraud have gradually silenced or blinded 
mankind, to the first principles of their nature : if tho 
people is every where trampled upon, insulted and villi- 
fied, while their oppressors pretend to derive honour from 
its debasement, and glory from their own crimes ; if pre- 
judice and superstition have filled up the measure of 
degradation, by persuading men, that a being bounded, 
contemptible, and perishable like themselves, has an 

inherent 



( 187 ) 

inherent right to whatever is most necessary or most dear 
to the human race ; that he can create distinctions where 
nature has made none ; or invert the most striking she 
has ordained, by transferring homage and osteem from 
the wise, the valiant, and the humane, to dastards, fools 
and tyrants ; these and a thousand other crimes and 
horrors can never alter the relation of things, sanctify op- 
pression, or convert the blackest abuses of lawless power 
into a legal claim. 



Lfc n ER 



( 188 ) 



LETTER II, 



SHOULD have imagined that tha 
gradual improvement the human understanding has been 
making, during the last century, would have so clearly 
led all mankind to the first principles of morals and po- 
litics, that we should in this enlightened age have seen 
no more controversies about their origin, than we do 
about the definitions cf geometry; did not continual 
experience convince me of the difference between sciences 
which are merely speculative, and ihobe which exercise 
the interest and ambition of mankind. But I fear that 
while one part of the nation shall be intent upon extendi 
ing its claims and authority, the other too igaorant or 
too corrupted to oppose them, we shall never be without 
men who will prostitute their talents to the meanest pur- 
poses of encroaching power, and wage a desperate war 
with the clearest deductions of reason. Could any one 
who was not versed in the doctrines of our modern po-. 

liti.ians have discovered a more uncontrovertible prin- 
ciple 



( 189 ) 

tiple than this, "that the end of every human govern* 
mcnt, and institution, is the good and safety of the peo- 
ple, not the interest of individuals, pursued at the ex* 
pence of the gene? al welfare?" Yet in how many dif- 
ferent manners has this eternal truth been attacked and 
obscured ! While the understandings of mankind were 
benumbed by the remains of popish superstition, that 
most formidable enemy to human reason and happiness* 
we saw despotism defended upon a few texts of sciiptures 
ill understood or partially quoted. BecauseChristianswere 
in the infancy of Christianity, exhorted to turn their at** 
tention to their spiritual rather than their temporal con- 
cerns; because the professors of a sect indirect opposi- 
tion to the established worship and government, were 
counselled to avoid every occasion of giving jealousy 
to their Julers, and drawingpersecution upon themselves, 
it was logically concluded that all Christian people 
were bound to resign their lives, their fortunes and their 
understandings into the hands of every hereditary ty- 
rant or fortunate usurper to whose caprices chance- 
should expose it. Luckily, however, the revolution in- 
tervened, a precedent, as Judge Blackstone gravely 
observes, of a very singular nature, which has rescued 
us from the claims of hereditary domination, and made 
the most impudent defenders of arbitrary power a little 

cautious 



t 190 ) 

Cautious of asserting the divine right of Kings. But as 
the passions and nature of men are pretty similar, there 
are certain general principles of conduct which most 
orders of men .arrive at in corresponding circumstances. 
Should I affirm^that it has been the spiiit of the clergy in 
every age, to fetter the understandings of the multitude* 
and while they have no other nominal design than the 
glory of the Deity, to receive all homage and sacrifice in 
his name, shall I assert any thing repugnant to fact? 
Should I insinuate that the body of lawyers has always 
been more intent upon preserving particular unintel- 
ligible forms, whose explanation, rendered its assistance 
necessary, than upon the advancement of universal jus- 
tice, shall I fear an information as a libeller ? Should I 
assert that upon whatever pretexts, or with 'whatever 
motives standing armies have been introduced into free 
countries, never in a single instance, have they failed of 
becoming mgines in the hands of tyrants, shall I be 
accused of any disrespect to our present patriotic le- 
gions, who are so forcibly pleading the cause of liberty^ 
against those wicked Americans who have take"n 
up arms to destroy it I I know indeed that a King can 
do no wrong ; and I know that our present Ministers are 
too mse and too virtuous to attempt it ; but should I say 
that Ministers have formeily existed, who turning their 

power 



( W ) 

power into the means of oppression, have endeavoured ta 
exalt prerogative upon the ruins of public freedom, and 
to corrupt the representatives of the people with treasures 
derived from its own labours ; that not contented with 
this, they have had the insolence to believe the nation 
as foolish as it was indolent, and to be duped out of its- 
just pretensions, by arguments as weak as they are in- 
famous, I believe the memory of most men will convince 
them I do not mistake. 

It is curious to remark the arts and industry with 
which these contemptible enemies of their country, re- 
pelled as often as they are resisted, and confuted as often 
as written against, return to the charge. It would seem 
strange that men who have reasoned upon every other 
supposition, and advanced every other system, except 
the truth, should not sometimes be right, if it were 
only by chance, or for the sake of variety ; did we not 
know that they do that by design, which bad archers do 
by accident, lodge their arrows every where but in the 
mark. How else could any man be the dupe of the 
wretched quibbles, for I will not call them arguments* 
which are retailed by ministerial sycophants, against the 
common rights of the species, and the particular claims 
©f their country ? how else would they dare to advance 

principles- 



( 192 > 

principles which, like the mountains hurled against the 
gods, recoil back upon themselves, and mingle their own 
systems with the dust I 

As soon as the superstitious rubbish, heaped by sue* 
cessive»ages of monastic dulness, upon the head of truth, 
had been removed \ as soon as our rulers chose to make 
the same alteration in the designs of heaven, which they 
had done in the government of the earth, and had learn- 
ed a new method of expounding the Sciiptures, when 
the old one was no longer favorable to their purpose ; 
new principles were devised, a new origin of society in- 
tented, and a new fabrick of oppression reared upon the 
ruins of the old. The people found that if the succession 
was altered, it implied no necessary change of measures, 
that the love of power might be the same in their de- 
liverers, as it had been in those who made that deliver- 
ance necessary, and though it had been declared treason 
to entertain certain speculative principles, which it wa* 
before treason not to be convinced of, no stigma of in- 
Jamy or punishment was annexed to crimes committed 
against the majesty of the people, or to the most impu- 
dent attempts to rob them of their indisputable rights^ 

LETTER 



( 193 ) 



LETTER III. 



MR- HUME, whose abilities I re- 
spect, as much as 1 sometimes pity the misapplication of 
them, has enumerated the right of conquest as a founda* 
tion of legal government among mankind. I wonder, I 
confess, so accurate a writer should have stopped half 
way in the enumeration, and omitted those other rights 
of equally respectable origin, the right of robbery y plun* 
der, and assassination* Perhaps so acute a logician 
thought it unnecessary to descend to particulars, and 
was persuaded that no one could mistake in the appli- 
cation of his principles ; captd urbe nihil Jit rcliqui victis : 
since power to oppress necessarily implies the right to 
do it, all inferior violences are so many gracious acts of 
mercy and benevolence ; and whoever, when he might 
destroy, contents himself with the gallantries of a rape, 
or the emoluments of servitude, is no bandit or tyrant, 
but the friend of human nature, and a second Titus.— 

© But 



( W ) 

But to what purpose has he taken so much pains, m 
establishing the principles of morals upon theiivbest and 
surest basis, the constitution of our nature ? Why has 
he deviated from the selfish systems of his Parisian 
friends, and allowed that virtue is something congenial 
to our existence, if he leaves a secret source of corrup- 
tion, whose baneful waters can never fail to diffuse ruin 
and misery among the species ? Can he be ignorant, that 
this one principle alone is more destructive than all the 
false reasonings, or arrogant pretcnsions,whieh have ever 
disgraced the writings of philosophers and divines ; and 
that, like the stone which Cadmus hurled among his 
new-born soldiers, it can never leave the earth in peace* 
while there are two individuals remaining upon the face 
of it? Is there a single act of secret cruelty or open 
violence which may not be justified by such an argu- 
ment ? Is there a single traitor, rebel, or usurper, who 
may not hope to enlist heaven and philosophy in 
his defence, when that act which is the completion of 
his crimes becomes their vindication, and an enterprise, 
which when undertaken, was execrable and flagitious, 
may by success acquire the colour of virtue, and the 
rights of justice ? But this extraoidinary doctrine is no 
less formidable to the victor than fatal to the vanquish- 
ed. For if Csesar had by conquest a righc to oppress 

the 



( 195 ) 

the liberties of his country, the dagger which sprinkled 
the statfte of Pompey with Caesar's blood, transferred 
his claim to dominion, and devolved the right of empire 
upon the conspirators : The martyred Charles himself 
had no reason to complain of his rebellious subjects, 
but questioned the authority of a court to which,uponthe 
principles of his historian and panegyrist, he ought impli- 
citly to have submitted ; heaven had annulled his title 
when it declared against him at Marston Moor; he was 
unfortunate, but not injured, and Cromwell was ambi^ 
t'ious, but no usurper. 

Yet so childishly vain and inconsistent are human 
beings, that most kings have chosen rather to found their 
authority upon the power of oppression than the volun- 
tary submission of their subjects; as if it were more 
glorious to trample upon than protect mankind, more 
eligible to rule by violence than by love, and more safe 
to be the tyrant than the father of a people. When 
Kouli-Kan was leading his victorious army through the 
ravaged provinces of India, a Bramin met him, and with 
the inirepidity which virtue. inspires, thus accosted him ; 
If thou ait a man* learn i o compassionate \]i<t sufferings 
of thy fellow- creatures ; if thou art a King, protect and 
sp^ire thy subjects ; or if thou art a prophet, inspired by 
heaven, enlighten our minds and guide us to the truth. 

o2 To 



( 196 ) 

To this the tyrant replied,! am no man that I should pity; 
nor king that I should protect,nor prophet that I should 
instruct, but I am he that heaven raises up in its vengeance 
to chastise the sins of the world. The Persian conqueror 
was not singular in his sentiments ; and the history of 
royalty is the satire of human nature. Wherever men 
have been entrusted with an unlimited power, they have 
never failed to abuse it ; pride, which increases in pro* 
portion to the homage it receives, ignorance, and sensu- 
ality* give them the idea they are a superior order of 
beings, and fill them with absurd notions of their 
high dignity and importance. Whatever have been the 
civil or military talents of the first Monarchs, their de- 
scendants, have ceased to be either wise or brave, as soon 
as their subjects were sufficiently bended to the yoke* 
and accustomed to admit the claim without insisting 
upon the conditions. 

What a picture does the greater part of the universe 
actually exhibit ? Even the most cultivated and enlight- 
ened nations seem to have overlooked, or forgotten, the 
first principles which providence itself inculcates. Na« 
ture, liberal to all her creatures, but profuse to man, 
has in vain surrounded him with an i2iexhaustible variety 

of 



( 197 ) 

©f blessings : in vain is he permitted to make the ele- 
ments subservient to his purpose, and assemble in one 
scanty spot the products of 'the universe. Tyranny, more 
fatal to the speeies than the united rage of all its other 
enemies, interposes, and scares the wretch from the re- 
ward his labours have so well deserved. Here an effe- 
minate oppressor, in the midst of concubines and eu- 
nuchs, asserts his claim of being Vice-gerent to Omni- 
potence, and consumes, within the walls of his seraglio, 
what would supply the necessities of a people. There, 
a Christian conqueror extirpates mankind to the sound 
of hymns and hosannas, while a croud of priests and 
missionaries anathematize all his enemies, and bless the 
sword which he is drawing for the destt uction of half 
the species. 

'■ » Crudelis ubique 

Luctus ubique pavor, et plurima mortis imago. 
Yet all the.se scenes of misery and ruin, of insolent op- 
pression, and abject resignation, are justifiable, if we 
admit for a moment," that power can be the origin of 
right. This baneful system not only pleads the apology 
of every crime, which has hitherto saddened the pros- 
pect of humanity, but tears from the breast, which 

piQurns in secret over the misfortunes of its fellow-crea- 
tures 



( 198 ) 

tares, the consolation of hope, and the expectation of 
happier time?^ 

But if it is destined, by the inexplicable wisdom of 
Providence, that no climate shall be sacred trom tyranny ; 
if arts and civilization, in their progress round the globe, 
have a natural tendency to debase the minds of the ma- 
ny, while they enlighten the understandings of the few, 
the term of political duration is at least no more fixed 
than the period of natural existence. Wisdom and cou- 
rage may extend the date of freedom, as much as igno» 
ranee and pusillanimity may abridge it. But in order to 
defend our rights it is necessary that we should under- 
stand their origin, and comprehend their extent. The 
first honours belong indeed to the citizen whose success- 
ful valour opposes oppression in the field, and lepresscs 
its encroachments; but neither is his mei it small, who 
awakens his countrymen to the consideration of the 
most important questions, who exposes the artifices of 
sophistry, and defends from fraud and undermining the 
sacred fabric of human rights, and public liberty. 



10 



( m ) 



LETTER IV. 



ALL animals, that we are acquaint- 
ed with, are compelled to the preservation and propaga- 
tion of their respective species, by certain uniform and 
general impressions which we call instincts: and as the 
reasoning faculties of all creatures, except man, are 
extremely bounded, and their habits of life too simple to 
produce factitious passions, the sum of happiness and 
misery seems to be pretty nearly equal to all individuals 
of the same class, in every part of the globe, where it is 
uninterrupted by human cruelty and oppression. These 
general impulses, which direct the several kinds and in- 
dividuals to good, as well as the fears and aversions, 
which preserve them from evil, are evidently implanted 
by the great Author of all existence, for beneficial pur- 
poses, and may be called the laws of nature in respect to 

Q 4 every 



( 200 > 

every particular class of beings. The en J of each of these 
laws, as far as human observation may pretend to reach, 
is the preservation, propagation, and happiness of every 
distinct species ; nor can individuals deviate from any 
of them, which rarely happens, unless by violence, with- 
out incuning pains and inconveniencies they were not 
subject to in their natural state. When we compare the 
human species with those innumerable others which sur- 
round it, we shall find that it agrees with them in the 
first great principles of nature, the dread of disagreeable, 
and the love of agreeable sensations; that it is exposed 
to the same infirmities and accidents, and that the great 
business of mankind isin common with all other animals, 
hunger, thirst, and love. The great distinction and pre- 
rogative, therefore, of the human race, do not arise from 
the ends which it pursues, but fiom the different faculties 
with which it advances towards them. The foresight of the 
wisest animal seems to extend a very little way beyond the 
present moment, and the experience of the longest life 
seems to make but little difference in its method of con- 
ducting itself. Man, on the contrary, however be may 
in some situations appear to stagnate, is in others con- 
tinually improving his knowledge, increasing his enjoy- 
ments, 



( 201 ) 

ments, and advancing by rapid strides towards perfec- 
tion. 

The method by which he does this, is by continually 
augmenting his experience, treasuring up the result in 
his memory, and acquiring a power of self -direction, by 
which he is enabled to sacrifice the present to the fu- 
ture. If we would form an idea of the effects and im- 
portance of these two qualities, we may conceive the 
following instances : Two men are thrown by shipwreck 
upon a desart bland, and after having long endured the 
pangs of thirst, arrive at a fountain of wholesome water. 
The first, unaccustomed to restrain the present appetite, 
gratifies it with such avidity that he expires in agonies. 
The other, warned by his comrade's fate, assuages his 
thirst with such moderation, that his existence is pre- 
served, and his health unimpaired. We may also con^ 
ceive two persons afflicted with painful and dangerous 
diseases, of which the only cure is the amputation of a 
limb; the one of whom, incapable of bearing the pain 
of so violent an operation, dies in lingering agonies : the 
other, by possessing a superior fortitude, submits to the 
pain, and is rewarded by a recovery of health. Now in 
all these four, the desire of life and enjoyment must be 

supposed 



( 202 ) 

supposed the same : the only difference consists, first 
in experience, which suggests the most probable means of 
success, and secondly, in the power of self-direction, 
which enables a being to follow the dictates of his 
reason. 

If we compare those two faculties together* which we 
name instinct and reason, we shall find, that when they 
are not perverted, they both conduct to the same end ; 
that the first is more bounded, but more invariable in its 
effects, arising from the scantiness of the materials upon 
which it is employed; the other an instrument of won- 
derful and almost illimitable power, but subject to be 
abused in such a manner, as almobt counterbalances its 
advantages. In the infancy of the human species, this 
faculty seems to be entirely dormant, at least its effects 
are not superior to what are produced by mere instinct. 
Not to quote the testimonies of ancient authors, who 
describe several tribes of savages as living together, with- 
out any ideas of property or po^cy, destitute of all the 
aits and conveniences which civilized nations consider 
as necessary to life, and even unacquainted with the me- 
thod of pronouncing articulate sounds : travellers of the 
greatest Veracity have confirmed the existence of many 
nations, whose reasoning powers are very little, if at all, 
superior to the instinct of brutes. In this state of ig- 
norance 



( 203 ) 

noranee and supineness, were a philosopher to consider 
the species, without any relation to the surprising pro- 
gress it is capable of making, were he to lay aside every 
thing which revelation has taught, or reason conjectured 
about a future state, he would discover certain laws of 
nature, to which the human as well as every other kind 
of animal is subject. He would find that it held a de- 
terminate rank in the system of beings, and if he was not 
one of those modern philosophers, who discard intelli- 
gence from the number of pioductive causes, he would 
believe it created, for a particular purpose, he would 
find it endowed with particular passions, some of which 
relate to self preservation, others to the propagation of 
the species, and others to the intercourse which must 
necessarily arise between beings of the same species. He 
would find a certain untaught morality which nature 
itself made necessary to society, even in its rudest state. 
For if it is a law of nature, that pain shall attend the la- 
ceration of the fibres, it is no less so, that danger, misery, 
and destruction shall ensue from encouiaging the unso^ 
cial passions, and giving unbounded scope to anger, 
selfishness, and cruelty. If the rude hunter attempt to 
wrest the prey from the hands of his brother savage, will 
it be resigned without a contest as dangerous to the 
aggressor as to the injured ? It' he strive to gratify Lis 
softer passions without the consent of his female, will 

he 



( £04 ) 

he not have her resistance to encounter, her vengeance 
to elude, or her flight to prevent ? Thus every hostile 
and oppressive disposition will produce a similar one in 
}iis fellow-creatures, and utility alone, without the con- 
currence of any other cause, would set bounds to the 
selfish passions, or else the species must be destroyed. 
From this one principle, therefore, may be deduced the 
origin of morality, and the foundation of every good go- 
vernment. There are therefore certain rules ; by the obser- 
vance of which the human race, even in its most savage 
state, must conduct itself, to arrive at the greatest de- 
gree of happiness; and on the contrary must sink into the 
greatest disorder and misery if it neglects them , these 
rules for want of a better expression, may be denomina- 
ted the laws (f Nature. 



FINIS, 



Jones, Printer, Chapel-ftreet, Soho. 



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